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袞械薪褖懈薪邪
袙 谐械褉懈邪褌褉懈褔械褋泻芯屑 芯褌写械谢械薪懈懈 斜芯谢褜薪懈褑褘 胁 锌褉懈谐芯褉芯写械 袩邪褉懈卸邪 褍屑懈褉邪械褌 锌芯卸懈谢邪褟 卸械薪褖懈薪邪 褋 斜芯谢械蟹薪褜褞 袗谢褜褑谐械泄屑械褉邪. 袝械 写芯褔褜, 锌懈褋邪褌械谢褜薪懈褑邪 袗薪薪懈 协褉薪芯, 锌褘褌邪褟褋褜 褋锌褉邪胁懈褌褜褋褟 褋 褍褌褉邪褌芯泄, 锌褉懈薪懈屑邪械褌褋褟 蟹邪 薪芯胁褍褞 泻薪懈谐褍, 胁 泻芯褌芯褉芯泄 褉邪蟹胁芯褉邪褔懈胁邪械褌褋褟 懈褋褌芯褉懈褟 芯写薪芯泄 褔械谢芯胁械褔械褋泻芯泄 褋褍写褜斜褘 鈥� 卸械薪褖懈薪褘, 褉芯写懈胁褕械泄褋褟 胁 斜械写薪芯泄 薪芯褉屑邪薪写褋泻芯泄 褋械屑褜械 械褖械 写芯 袩械褉胁芯泄 屑懈褉芯胁芯泄 胁芯泄薪褘 懈 胁褋褞 卸懈蟹薪褜 褋褌褉械屑懈胁褕械泄褋褟 锌褉械芯写芯谢械褌褜 谐褉邪薪懈褑褘 褋胁芯械谐芯 泻谢邪褋褋邪. 芦袛褍屑邪褞, 褟 锌懈褕褍 芯 屑邪屑械, 锌芯褌芯屑褍 褔褌芯 薪邪褋褌邪谢 屑芯泄 褔械褉械写 锌褉芯懈蟹胁械褋褌懈 械械 薪邪 褋胁械褌禄, 鈥� 芯斜褗褟褋薪褟械褌 褋胁芯械 薪邪褔懈薪邪薪懈械 协褉薪芯 懈 锌褉芯卸懈胁邪械褌 胁 锌懈褋褜屑械 褋褑械薪褍 蟹邪 褋褑械薪芯泄 懈蟹 屑邪褌械褉懈薪褋泻芯泄 卸懈蟹薪懈 写芯 褋邪屑芯谐芯 械械 褍谐邪褋邪薪懈褟, 芯褋褌邪薪邪胁谢懈胁邪褟褋褜 薪邪 芯褌写械谢褜薪褘褏 褝锌懈蟹芯写邪褏 懈褏 褋 屑邪褌械褉褜褞 薪械锌褉芯褋褌褘褏 芯褌薪芯褕械薪懈泄 褋 斜械褋褋褌褉邪褋褌懈械屑 斜懈芯谐褉邪褎邪 鈥� 懈 斜械蟹褍褌械褕薪芯褋褌褜褞 写芯褔械褉懈, 芯褋褌邪胁褕械泄褋褟 薪邪械写懈薪械 褋 薪械胁芯褋锌芯谢薪懈屑芯泄 薪械褏胁邪褌泻芯泄.
80 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 14, 1988
663 people are currently reading
18913 people want to read
About the author
Annie Ernaux
87听books8,936听followersThe author of some twenty works of fiction and memoir, Annie Ernaux is considered by many to be France鈥檚 most important writer. In 2022, she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. She has also won the Prix Renaudot for A Man's Place and the Marguerite Yourcenar Prize for her body of work. More recently she received the International Strega Prize, the Prix Formentor, the French-American Translation Prize, and the Warwick Prize for Women in Translation for The Years, which was also shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize in 2019. Her other works include Exteriors, A Girl's Story, A Woman's Story, The Possession, Simple Passion, Happening, I Remain in Darkness, Shame, A Frozen Woman, and A Man's Place.
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July 22, 2023
I loved reading this book by more than the book , which she wrote about her father.
Here she gives an account of her mother's life and the relationship she had with her mother. I felt that the author wrote this book more openly than the book she wrote about her father.
Here also, we can see Annie Ernaux going for therapeutic writing at the time of grief. We can see how Alzheimer's disease affects the stability of a family in this book. This might be a small book written in simple language. But if you try to process everything that Annie wrote in this book, we can see why it is a true masterpiece.
What I learned from this book
1) Will detachment makes it easier to analyze one's memories?
We can see how the mother's death deeply affected the author. It made her realize the power of ordinary sentences or chic茅s. Her realization that her mother is no longer alive anywhere in the world hurt her so much. That is why she decided to write a book about her, which she thought was the only thing she could do at that time.
2) How does alienation affect the personality of an individual?
This is yet another complex topic that the author is trying to discuss by trying to understand more about her mother. We can see how her mother behaved in a peculiar manner during certain situations due to these alienations.
3) Why is it said that knowledge has the power to control access to opportunity and advancement?
We can see how much the author's mother gave importance to knowledge.
4) What is the effect of Alzheimer's disease on family life?
The author's words reveal to us why Alzheimer's disease is considered a disease affecting not just one individual but the whole family, as not just the patient, but everyone in the family has to suffer due to it.
5) Why is it considered difficult to write memoirs about our family members?
I remember reading once in 's book that the most challenging aspect of writing memoirs is to write about our family members who are alive. In this book, Annie Ernaux shows us why it is equally challenging to write about our family members who have passed away.
What could have been better?
The author discusses a crucial topic related to the mother-daughter relationship in this book. It is about why her mother behaved in a peculiar manner, as her daughter (the author) was more successful than her.
The author beautifully describes how her mother behaved towards her and the reason behind it. But she sadly stops her discussion about it there. This is a topic that requires deeper discussion, and the author had a golden opportunity to discuss other ways parents behave, like the perumthachan complex (jealousy of parents to successful children). She sadly squandered this opportunity. But we can't blame her for it, though, as she wrote it at a time of grief, and she never planned to discuss intensely about human behavior in this book.
Rating
5/5 I am happy that I have at last read a book by a Nobel prize winner, which I can recommend to everyone as it is written in a simple language that everyone can understand and connect with the feelings shared by the author. The fact that it has just 104 pages and we can finish reading it within two hours makes it much more easier for me to recommend it. A few of my friends sometimes wanted to try out the books I loved reading. So they asked me about my current favorites and tried to take away my books to read.
I remember two similar experiences I had in the last decade (one in the former half and the other in the latter half) with a couple of friends, who became angry with me for saying that I loved reading by and by (the latter of which I interestingly picked from the airport bookstore just before a flight). They tried to read the above books after hearing that I loved these books. In their opinion, both these books were a piece of crap, and they concluded that I should use my time more judiciously by reading books with some substance. I agree that books like Flights are difficult to read, which is one of the reasons why I reread it again a few times in my life. But calling them useless just because you can't understand it was unacceptable to me, which caused a small discussion between my friends and me.
After a few years, these authors ( in 2013 and in 2018) won Nobel Prize in literature, and my friends had to agree that they couldn't at least call these books useless. I actually never recommended these books to them. They snatched my copy of these books from my possession when they heard that I loved these books. The above two experiences taught me a valuable lesson: to be careful while discussing books with my friends.
I am glad that I read this book by , as it has a universal appeal, and I can fearlessly discuss and recommend it to anyone. This is a book you should never miss if you are someone who loves to read memoirs or if you have someone who has Alzheimer's disease in your family.
鈥斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌�
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Here she gives an account of her mother's life and the relationship she had with her mother. I felt that the author wrote this book more openly than the book she wrote about her father.
Here also, we can see Annie Ernaux going for therapeutic writing at the time of grief. We can see how Alzheimer's disease affects the stability of a family in this book. This might be a small book written in simple language. But if you try to process everything that Annie wrote in this book, we can see why it is a true masterpiece.
What I learned from this book
1) Will detachment makes it easier to analyze one's memories?
We can see how the mother's death deeply affected the author. It made her realize the power of ordinary sentences or chic茅s. Her realization that her mother is no longer alive anywhere in the world hurt her so much. That is why she decided to write a book about her, which she thought was the only thing she could do at that time.
"It was only the day before yesterday that I overcame the fear of writing "My mother died" on a blank sheet of paper, not as the first line of a letter but as the opening of a book. "I shall continue to write about my mother. She is the only woman who really meant something to me and she had been suffering from senile dementia for two years. Perhaps I should wait until her illness and death have merged into the past, like other events in my life鈥攎y father's death and the breakup with my husband鈥攕o that I feel the detachment which makes it easier to analyze one's memories. But right now I am incapable of doing anything else."
2) How does alienation affect the personality of an individual?
This is yet another complex topic that the author is trying to discuss by trying to understand more about her mother. We can see how her mother behaved in a peculiar manner during certain situations due to these alienations.
"How can one understand her attitude without having been subjected to the same degree of alienation?"
3) Why is it said that knowledge has the power to control access to opportunity and advancement?
We can see how much the author's mother gave importance to knowledge.
"In her opinion, self-improvement was first and foremost a question of learning and nothing was more precious than knowledge. (She would often say: "One must occupy one's mind.鈥�) Books were the only things she handled with care. She washed her hands before touching them."
4) What is the effect of Alzheimer's disease on family life?
The author's words reveal to us why Alzheimer's disease is considered a disease affecting not just one individual but the whole family, as not just the patient, but everyone in the family has to suffer due to it.
"She was suffering from Alzheimer's Disease, the name given by the doctors to a form of senile dementia. Over the past few days, I have found it more and more difficult to write, possibly because I would like never to reach this point. And yet I know I shall have no peace of mind until I find the words that will reunite the demented woman she had become with the strong, radiant woman she once was.
She got confused by the different rooms in the house and would ask me angrily how to get to her own bedroom. She started losing things鈥�"I can't put my hands on it"鈥攁nd was astonished to find them in places where she claimed she had never put them. She demanded that I give her some sewing or ironing or even some vegetables to peel, but as soon as she started on something, she lost patience and gave up. She seemed to live in a state of perpetual restlessness. Although she longed for new occupations鈥攚atching television, having lunch, going out in the garden鈥攖hey never gave her the slightest satisfaction.
She slowly slipped into a world without seasons, warm, gentle, and sweet-smelling, where there was no notion of time, just the inevitable routine of eating and going to bed."
5) Why is it considered difficult to write memoirs about our family members?
I remember reading once in 's book that the most challenging aspect of writing memoirs is to write about our family members who are alive. In this book, Annie Ernaux shows us why it is equally challenging to write about our family members who have passed away.
"Throughout the ten months I was writing this book, I dreamed of her almost every night. Once I was lying in the middle of a stream, caught between two currents. From my loins, smooth again like a young girl's, from between my thighs, long tapering plants floated limply. The body they came from was not only mine, it was also my mother's.
Every now and then, I seem to be back in the days when she was still living at home, before she left for the hospital. Although I realize she is dead, sometimes, for a split second, I expect to see her come downstairs and settle in the living room with her sewing basket. This feeling鈥攚hich puts my mother's illusory presence before her real absence鈥攊s no doubt the first stage of healing."
What could have been better?
The author discusses a crucial topic related to the mother-daughter relationship in this book. It is about why her mother behaved in a peculiar manner, as her daughter (the author) was more successful than her.
"It took me a long time to realize that the feeling of unease my mother experienced in my own house was no different from what I had felt as a teenager when I was introduced to people "a cut above us." (As if only the "lower classes" suffered from inequalities which others choose to ignore.) I also realized that the cultural supremacy my husband and I enjoyed鈥攔eading Le Monde, listening to Bach鈥攚as distorted by my mother into a form of economic supremacy, based on the exploitation of labor: putting herself in the position of an employee was her way of rebelling."
The author beautifully describes how her mother behaved towards her and the reason behind it. But she sadly stops her discussion about it there. This is a topic that requires deeper discussion, and the author had a golden opportunity to discuss other ways parents behave, like the perumthachan complex (jealousy of parents to successful children). She sadly squandered this opportunity. But we can't blame her for it, though, as she wrote it at a time of grief, and she never planned to discuss intensely about human behavior in this book.
Rating
5/5 I am happy that I have at last read a book by a Nobel prize winner, which I can recommend to everyone as it is written in a simple language that everyone can understand and connect with the feelings shared by the author. The fact that it has just 104 pages and we can finish reading it within two hours makes it much more easier for me to recommend it. A few of my friends sometimes wanted to try out the books I loved reading. So they asked me about my current favorites and tried to take away my books to read.
I remember two similar experiences I had in the last decade (one in the former half and the other in the latter half) with a couple of friends, who became angry with me for saying that I loved reading by and by (the latter of which I interestingly picked from the airport bookstore just before a flight). They tried to read the above books after hearing that I loved these books. In their opinion, both these books were a piece of crap, and they concluded that I should use my time more judiciously by reading books with some substance. I agree that books like Flights are difficult to read, which is one of the reasons why I reread it again a few times in my life. But calling them useless just because you can't understand it was unacceptable to me, which caused a small discussion between my friends and me.
After a few years, these authors ( in 2013 and in 2018) won Nobel Prize in literature, and my friends had to agree that they couldn't at least call these books useless. I actually never recommended these books to them. They snatched my copy of these books from my possession when they heard that I loved these books. The above two experiences taught me a valuable lesson: to be careful while discussing books with my friends.
I am glad that I read this book by , as it has a universal appeal, and I can fearlessly discuss and recommend it to anyone. This is a book you should never miss if you are someone who loves to read memoirs or if you have someone who has Alzheimer's disease in your family.
鈥斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌斺赌�
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February 1, 2023
L鈥橝LTRA MADRE
Telefonano dalla casa di riposo: la mamma 猫 morta.
Inizia quel percorso di incombenze, decisioni, scelte, burocrazia, che ogni morte si porta dietro nel mondo d鈥檕ggi. E che ha il potere di risultare sempre profondamente assurda, e sgradevole: ci si vorrebbe concentrare sul dolore, la perdita, l鈥檃ssenza, e invece鈥�
La madre era malata di Alzheimer, con la testa pi霉 di l脿 che di qua, come si usa dire. Era diventato difficile avere rapporti con lei: non riconosceva pi霉 la figlia, la chiamava 鈥渟ignora鈥�. Epper貌鈥�
Ernaux, con la consueta economia di parole e controllo di tono a cui mi ha abituato, si mette a scrivere subito: sono solo scarne novanta pagine, ma le richiedono quasi un anno di lavoro. E quando alla fine rilegge cosa ha scritto all鈥檌nizio si sorprende: ha gi脿 dimenticato, particolari, dettagli, sono svaniti.
Non ascolter貌 pi霉 la sua voce. Era lei, le sue parole, le sue mani, i suoi gesti, la sua maniera di ridere e camminare, a unire la donna che sono alla bambina che sono stata. Ho perso l鈥檜ltimo legame con il mondo da cui provengo.
Quando mia madre 猫 morta io mi trovavo a circa undicimila chilometri da lei.
Ero arrivato due giorni prima.
Mia sorella ha telefonato per darmi la notizia, e io ho avuto per qualche minuto il pensiero di tornare 鈥榓 casa鈥� per essere presente. Poi, per fortuna, ha vinto la ragione. O il buon senso, come direbbe qualcun altro.
L鈥檃vevo vista pochi giorni prima di partire. L鈥檃vevo trovata male: sempre lucida, ma fisicamente prosciugata, ritirata, rimpicciolita. Ho avuto l鈥檌mpressione che vivere le fosse ormai di gran fatica. E forse, soprattutto, una grande noia. Ricordo che mi ero augurato per lei quello che poi 猫 successo qualche giorno dopo.
Ero nel posto che preferisco al mondo, e me lo sono goduto, sono rimasto a lungo, ho girato, visitato amici, visto posti nuovi.
La sensazione che mia madre non dovesse pi霉 trascinare le sue giornate mi ha in un certo senso alleggerito: per lei.
E per me.
Telefonano dalla casa di riposo: la mamma 猫 morta.
Inizia quel percorso di incombenze, decisioni, scelte, burocrazia, che ogni morte si porta dietro nel mondo d鈥檕ggi. E che ha il potere di risultare sempre profondamente assurda, e sgradevole: ci si vorrebbe concentrare sul dolore, la perdita, l鈥檃ssenza, e invece鈥�
La madre era malata di Alzheimer, con la testa pi霉 di l脿 che di qua, come si usa dire. Era diventato difficile avere rapporti con lei: non riconosceva pi霉 la figlia, la chiamava 鈥渟ignora鈥�. Epper貌鈥�
Ernaux, con la consueta economia di parole e controllo di tono a cui mi ha abituato, si mette a scrivere subito: sono solo scarne novanta pagine, ma le richiedono quasi un anno di lavoro. E quando alla fine rilegge cosa ha scritto all鈥檌nizio si sorprende: ha gi脿 dimenticato, particolari, dettagli, sono svaniti.
Non ascolter貌 pi霉 la sua voce. Era lei, le sue parole, le sue mani, i suoi gesti, la sua maniera di ridere e camminare, a unire la donna che sono alla bambina che sono stata. Ho perso l鈥檜ltimo legame con il mondo da cui provengo.
Quando mia madre 猫 morta io mi trovavo a circa undicimila chilometri da lei.
Ero arrivato due giorni prima.
Mia sorella ha telefonato per darmi la notizia, e io ho avuto per qualche minuto il pensiero di tornare 鈥榓 casa鈥� per essere presente. Poi, per fortuna, ha vinto la ragione. O il buon senso, come direbbe qualcun altro.
L鈥檃vevo vista pochi giorni prima di partire. L鈥檃vevo trovata male: sempre lucida, ma fisicamente prosciugata, ritirata, rimpicciolita. Ho avuto l鈥檌mpressione che vivere le fosse ormai di gran fatica. E forse, soprattutto, una grande noia. Ricordo che mi ero augurato per lei quello che poi 猫 successo qualche giorno dopo.
Ero nel posto che preferisco al mondo, e me lo sono goduto, sono rimasto a lungo, ho girato, visitato amici, visto posti nuovi.
La sensazione che mia madre non dovesse pi霉 trascinare le sue giornate mi ha in un certo senso alleggerito: per lei.
E per me.
July 31, 2024
Mother, Mother
She longed to learn the rules of good behaviour and was always worrying about social conventions, fearful of doing the wrong thing. She longed to know what was in fashion, what was new, the names of famous writers, the recent films on release 鈥� although she didn鈥檛 go to the cinema, she hadn鈥檛 time 鈥� and the names of the flowers in the garden. She listened attentively when people spoke of something she didn鈥檛 know, out of curiosity, and also because she wanted to show that she was eager to learn. In her opinion, self-improvement was first and foremost a question of learning and nothing was more precious than knowledge. (She would often say: 鈥淥ne must occupy one鈥檚 mind.鈥�) Books were the only thing she handled with care. She washed her hands before touching them.
A Woman鈥檚 Story (une femme) is the sixth book I鈥檝e read from Annie Ernaux and compared to , , , and , I thought it the most tender, intimate, melancholy and moving episode in the roman fleuve she concocted from her own life and experiences. Readers who are accustomed to her usual bare and unflinching prose accounts might even be a little surprised finding it almost sentimental.
Annie Ernaux looks back at her mother鈥檚 life and at their mother-daughter relationship. She draws a poignant portrait of her mother, Blanche Duchesne, in broad strokes, showing a life of hard work and resilience (鈥楧espair is a luxury鈥�), pointing to the impact of the second world war, showing how that life was shaped by grief, penury, the attempt to overcome class restrictions, widowhood and finally by Alzheimer鈥檚 disease until her death in the geriatric care ward 鈥� and a desire to see her daughter have a richer, more fulfilling life than she had herself.
As in her other books, Annie Ernaux tries to keep her distance from what she is observing and feeling, to look at that life with candour, to analyse and contextualise her mother鈥檚 life objectively, looking at her mother with a sociological eye, in terms of social class and mobility. Recurrently she admits that with regard to her mother and her death such is an almost impossible job, that she isn鈥檛 able to put aside the emotions that well up thinking about her mother, touching upon the commonality of the human experience of grief, which makes her unable to speak but in clich茅s about the never again (never hearing her voice again, never another spring to come for her) that likely will sound familiar to everyone who has been deeply affected by the loss of a loved one.
Like Marcel Proust was a touchstone to her father鈥檚 life in , Ernaux points at Simone de Beauvoir鈥檚 life as the one for her mother鈥檚. Realising that Annie Ernaux鈥檚 own path as a feminist and intellectual echoes de Beauvoir鈥檚, the elegiac coda highlights the contrast between the life of the mother and the daughter, but also points at the continuity between the generations:
She died eight days before Simone de Beauvoir.
She preferred giving to everybody, rather than taking from them.
Isn鈥檛 writing also a way of giving?
Janine Niepce, A mother and her child, 1965.
(This photograph is a part of the Paris exhibition exploring the resonances between Annie Ernaux鈥檚 texts and photography. According to curator and writer Lou Stoppard, Ernaux was particularly taken with the work of Janine Niepce. Niepce鈥檚 image of a mother and child nods to the various ways Ernaux has addressed the complexities and confinements of motherhood throughout her work. On viewing the image, Ernaux was struck by the different gazes 鈥� the child looks at the mother, but the mother looks out at the world. It speaks to the restrictions and limitations, in terms of routine and freedom, that can prevent us from being able to observe and engage with the world.)
Although Ernaux doesn鈥檛 deify her mother 鈥� not shying away from naming her uncouthness, her sometimes violent way to treat her daughter - her portrayal of her mother is more graceful and merciful than how she tends to picture herself 鈥� or at least the narrators in the other books I read by her 鈥揼iving this elegiac book a less barbed and more serene and vulnerable tone.
Like in books I previously read of hers, she thematizes her writing, as the only thinkable response of a writer to life, to make sense of and gauge reality鈥� and for those who like me find it hard to capture life in words, reading Ernaux, even if she seems to write on her exclusively personal experiences, her words enable me to look at my own background with a sharper eye. Ernaux鈥檚 experiences 鈥� showing how much social class, position and privilege is not only about money but also about cultural capital 鈥� seem textbook examples illustrating Pierre Bourdieu鈥檚 theories. Talking about equal opportunities for all at the starting line by equal access to education however noble a purpose it might seem in a meritocratic society, ignores that children don鈥檛 enter schools as blank slates and that one鈥檚 background often continues to be a hidden asset 鈥� or impediment.
Regardless of the obvious differences, as a 鈥榮ocial migrant鈥� myself just like my mother, Ernaux prompts me to contemplate on the parallels I cannot deny between her mother鈥檚 life and choices and those of my own mother who had to leave school at fourteen 鈥� the grocery store she ran as a way to evade working in a factory, her insistence on the prevalence of studying and formal education, on financial independence as a woman 鈥� and also her restlessness, her desire to make herself useful to both her daughters 鈥� embodying the ethos of hard work, that I in turn seem to have passed on my own daughter. Bearing my mother鈥檚 background in mind, that dream of Ernaux鈥� mother for her daughter to become a woman 鈥榞uided by ideas and words鈥� echoed my mother鈥檚 (and father鈥檚) and made me question the ideas and aspirations I might be passing unconsciously to my own daughter 鈥� an ambition by proxy, which doesn鈥檛 necessarily will make her happy, maybe even on the contrary.
After my initial enthusiasm for Ernaux sank considerably since reading the flimsy and unsettling in which she reflects on the relationship she had in her early fifties with a student almost thirty years her junior, A Woman鈥檚 Story has warmed me again to read her work, placing her among those authors whom I鈥檒l continue reading, each time when I chance upon another book of hers. The evident consecutive read after this book on her mother would be the book she wrote on her father, .
She longed to learn the rules of good behaviour and was always worrying about social conventions, fearful of doing the wrong thing. She longed to know what was in fashion, what was new, the names of famous writers, the recent films on release 鈥� although she didn鈥檛 go to the cinema, she hadn鈥檛 time 鈥� and the names of the flowers in the garden. She listened attentively when people spoke of something she didn鈥檛 know, out of curiosity, and also because she wanted to show that she was eager to learn. In her opinion, self-improvement was first and foremost a question of learning and nothing was more precious than knowledge. (She would often say: 鈥淥ne must occupy one鈥檚 mind.鈥�) Books were the only thing she handled with care. She washed her hands before touching them.
A Woman鈥檚 Story (une femme) is the sixth book I鈥檝e read from Annie Ernaux and compared to , , , and , I thought it the most tender, intimate, melancholy and moving episode in the roman fleuve she concocted from her own life and experiences. Readers who are accustomed to her usual bare and unflinching prose accounts might even be a little surprised finding it almost sentimental.
Annie Ernaux looks back at her mother鈥檚 life and at their mother-daughter relationship. She draws a poignant portrait of her mother, Blanche Duchesne, in broad strokes, showing a life of hard work and resilience (鈥楧espair is a luxury鈥�), pointing to the impact of the second world war, showing how that life was shaped by grief, penury, the attempt to overcome class restrictions, widowhood and finally by Alzheimer鈥檚 disease until her death in the geriatric care ward 鈥� and a desire to see her daughter have a richer, more fulfilling life than she had herself.
As in her other books, Annie Ernaux tries to keep her distance from what she is observing and feeling, to look at that life with candour, to analyse and contextualise her mother鈥檚 life objectively, looking at her mother with a sociological eye, in terms of social class and mobility. Recurrently she admits that with regard to her mother and her death such is an almost impossible job, that she isn鈥檛 able to put aside the emotions that well up thinking about her mother, touching upon the commonality of the human experience of grief, which makes her unable to speak but in clich茅s about the never again (never hearing her voice again, never another spring to come for her) that likely will sound familiar to everyone who has been deeply affected by the loss of a loved one.
Like Marcel Proust was a touchstone to her father鈥檚 life in , Ernaux points at Simone de Beauvoir鈥檚 life as the one for her mother鈥檚. Realising that Annie Ernaux鈥檚 own path as a feminist and intellectual echoes de Beauvoir鈥檚, the elegiac coda highlights the contrast between the life of the mother and the daughter, but also points at the continuity between the generations:
She died eight days before Simone de Beauvoir.
She preferred giving to everybody, rather than taking from them.
Isn鈥檛 writing also a way of giving?
Janine Niepce, A mother and her child, 1965.
(This photograph is a part of the Paris exhibition exploring the resonances between Annie Ernaux鈥檚 texts and photography. According to curator and writer Lou Stoppard, Ernaux was particularly taken with the work of Janine Niepce. Niepce鈥檚 image of a mother and child nods to the various ways Ernaux has addressed the complexities and confinements of motherhood throughout her work. On viewing the image, Ernaux was struck by the different gazes 鈥� the child looks at the mother, but the mother looks out at the world. It speaks to the restrictions and limitations, in terms of routine and freedom, that can prevent us from being able to observe and engage with the world.)
Although Ernaux doesn鈥檛 deify her mother 鈥� not shying away from naming her uncouthness, her sometimes violent way to treat her daughter - her portrayal of her mother is more graceful and merciful than how she tends to picture herself 鈥� or at least the narrators in the other books I read by her 鈥揼iving this elegiac book a less barbed and more serene and vulnerable tone.
Like in books I previously read of hers, she thematizes her writing, as the only thinkable response of a writer to life, to make sense of and gauge reality鈥� and for those who like me find it hard to capture life in words, reading Ernaux, even if she seems to write on her exclusively personal experiences, her words enable me to look at my own background with a sharper eye. Ernaux鈥檚 experiences 鈥� showing how much social class, position and privilege is not only about money but also about cultural capital 鈥� seem textbook examples illustrating Pierre Bourdieu鈥檚 theories. Talking about equal opportunities for all at the starting line by equal access to education however noble a purpose it might seem in a meritocratic society, ignores that children don鈥檛 enter schools as blank slates and that one鈥檚 background often continues to be a hidden asset 鈥� or impediment.
Regardless of the obvious differences, as a 鈥榮ocial migrant鈥� myself just like my mother, Ernaux prompts me to contemplate on the parallels I cannot deny between her mother鈥檚 life and choices and those of my own mother who had to leave school at fourteen 鈥� the grocery store she ran as a way to evade working in a factory, her insistence on the prevalence of studying and formal education, on financial independence as a woman 鈥� and also her restlessness, her desire to make herself useful to both her daughters 鈥� embodying the ethos of hard work, that I in turn seem to have passed on my own daughter. Bearing my mother鈥檚 background in mind, that dream of Ernaux鈥� mother for her daughter to become a woman 鈥榞uided by ideas and words鈥� echoed my mother鈥檚 (and father鈥檚) and made me question the ideas and aspirations I might be passing unconsciously to my own daughter 鈥� an ambition by proxy, which doesn鈥檛 necessarily will make her happy, maybe even on the contrary.
After my initial enthusiasm for Ernaux sank considerably since reading the flimsy and unsettling in which she reflects on the relationship she had in her early fifties with a student almost thirty years her junior, A Woman鈥檚 Story has warmed me again to read her work, placing her among those authors whom I鈥檒l continue reading, each time when I chance upon another book of hers. The evident consecutive read after this book on her mother would be the book she wrote on her father, .
October 13, 2021
It is said that contradiction is unthinkable; but the fact is that in the pain of a living being it is even an actual existence.
- Hegel
The Hegelian quote prefaces the book, which means that to bring out the contradictions deep ridden in subjective or abstract views and to explain them in a way that objective and specific views can be constructed that nevertheless retain in themselves what there was of truth in the original views. In other words, everything is contradictory, however, the binaries which we think to be contradictory in nature, actually complement each other. Is it possible then to write objectively about things or persons related to yourself? The author here takes the humungous and refutable task to capture the real woman, the one who existed independently from her. Does she eventually able to achieve what she wishes for? Well, it could only be determined by the readers of the book, and each reader may have her/ his own version of the truth as everything is inherently contradictory in nature then how could truth escape from it.
link:
The author here wants to write about the truth of her mother, in a particular immutable order but what truth she is thinking about and what particular order is the right one, is the order she finally chooses right one or there could be other possible orders too? And more importantly, what does she want to convey, if anything she wants to, at all? Since these harsh truths or orders of events happen with everyone or most of us but rarely do people reflect upon them the way the author has, so why does she do that? Perhaps she is somewhat more observant than we are, but does being a keen observer only fuel her soul with turmoil to write it down?
Why does she write it, that鈥檚 a profound question? The emptiness we feel our bond with someone we love is severed, at least in this world, does it prompt us to say about it so that we may fill up the enormous void. Or perhaps we write about it so that the eternal events such as death may be helped to get merge with the past, to be one with our past, so that our turbulent soul may find solace as then it would become like any other events of our past. The author says that more objective aspect of her writing involves a cross between family history and sociology, reality and fiction; it could be seen as a literary venture as its purpose to find out the truth about her mother, a truth that can be conveyed only by words, and perhaps a truth which can be explored through words, only. She believes she is writing to her mother into the world, she writes for people to understand what she wrote for herself to make the thought bearable to her.
Human relationships work as per a bell-shaped curve, we come close to each other, explore each other, our intimacy grows with it then we realize our personal spaces and settle then, however, our relationship with our parents perhaps follow some other curve we are not aware of or it can鈥檛 be understood through any pattern or curve. The relationship of the author with her mother is also like any mother-daughter relationship is full of crest and troughs, she writes about her to relive again the times and places she shared with her mother when she was alive. So does our relationship come to halt when our bond with loved ones is severed by the stroke of death or do we continue our kinship with our associated memories, by reliving those shared moments; and what is it like, isn鈥檛 it like suspended countenance as if we want time to stop there, isn鈥檛 it bad faith?
link:
The author writes about the complex origins and processes of a mother-daughter relationship, she portrays every mood, temper, affection, and attitude of her mother with supreme honesty as if she is writing about some third person. She works along to relate the features of her mother鈥檚 personality to her social and cultural background rather than just presenting them as mere characteristics. She notices this way of writing seems to bring her closer to the truth she is exploring, relieves her of the dark, heavy burden of personal remembrance by establishing a more objective approach. She pens down their differences, their views which ought to be different due to different times and socio-economic settings, taboos about sex ad others, with utmost sincerity and honesty as she maintains while writing about their conformities and intimacies.
The book is not just an account of the mother-daughter relationship, it is about life and death, the circle of life, the eternal truth that we must lose the ones we love, in other words, the essence of life. Does it talk about what does it mean to be alive or existing? Does a mere breathing person may be said to be alive, to exist, what does her being consist of? Doesn鈥檛 it consist of all its possessions and losses, its successes and failures, lies and truths, its dreams and realities, in other words, everything that a man is made up of? What could be said then of a woman who loses cognizance of herself, meaning of her words, her life is being dictated by imagination, with no relation to reality, she loses her being, her existence, she invents life she longer could live, as if she is a living death. But could do away with her even then, if she is our mother. Perhaps it鈥檚 hard to assuage the wounds of hearts with reason.
The prose of the book is quite straightforward like a biography but it is not a typical biography, though it has a clear, poignant narrative but it鈥檚 neither a novel, it is a remembrance of the life history of a strong, radiant woman through the history of war and economic crisis, from a sociological and literary perspective. The narrative has a rhythmic flow like music with each note sharply detached from the other, the author though writes about her mother but she has been able to cultivate restrained and detached prose, deeply moving account of life and death, youth and age, imaginations, and reality, a poignant love story.
Is it the author鈥檚 story or her mother鈥檚 story or the story of every daughter, every mother, or every human being? The author has been able to condense out the essence of life from her life, perhaps beyond her life to her mother鈥檚. So, it鈥檚 the end of the author鈥檚 relationship with her mother as she is writing to separate her mother from her memories, to make her one with history; or the beginning of the eternal circle of life again to end so that it could begin again, and again.
link:
4.5/5
- Hegel
The Hegelian quote prefaces the book, which means that to bring out the contradictions deep ridden in subjective or abstract views and to explain them in a way that objective and specific views can be constructed that nevertheless retain in themselves what there was of truth in the original views. In other words, everything is contradictory, however, the binaries which we think to be contradictory in nature, actually complement each other. Is it possible then to write objectively about things or persons related to yourself? The author here takes the humungous and refutable task to capture the real woman, the one who existed independently from her. Does she eventually able to achieve what she wishes for? Well, it could only be determined by the readers of the book, and each reader may have her/ his own version of the truth as everything is inherently contradictory in nature then how could truth escape from it.
link:
The author here wants to write about the truth of her mother, in a particular immutable order but what truth she is thinking about and what particular order is the right one, is the order she finally chooses right one or there could be other possible orders too? And more importantly, what does she want to convey, if anything she wants to, at all? Since these harsh truths or orders of events happen with everyone or most of us but rarely do people reflect upon them the way the author has, so why does she do that? Perhaps she is somewhat more observant than we are, but does being a keen observer only fuel her soul with turmoil to write it down?
Why does she write it, that鈥檚 a profound question? The emptiness we feel our bond with someone we love is severed, at least in this world, does it prompt us to say about it so that we may fill up the enormous void. Or perhaps we write about it so that the eternal events such as death may be helped to get merge with the past, to be one with our past, so that our turbulent soul may find solace as then it would become like any other events of our past. The author says that more objective aspect of her writing involves a cross between family history and sociology, reality and fiction; it could be seen as a literary venture as its purpose to find out the truth about her mother, a truth that can be conveyed only by words, and perhaps a truth which can be explored through words, only. She believes she is writing to her mother into the world, she writes for people to understand what she wrote for herself to make the thought bearable to her.
Human relationships work as per a bell-shaped curve, we come close to each other, explore each other, our intimacy grows with it then we realize our personal spaces and settle then, however, our relationship with our parents perhaps follow some other curve we are not aware of or it can鈥檛 be understood through any pattern or curve. The relationship of the author with her mother is also like any mother-daughter relationship is full of crest and troughs, she writes about her to relive again the times and places she shared with her mother when she was alive. So does our relationship come to halt when our bond with loved ones is severed by the stroke of death or do we continue our kinship with our associated memories, by reliving those shared moments; and what is it like, isn鈥檛 it like suspended countenance as if we want time to stop there, isn鈥檛 it bad faith?
link:
The author writes about the complex origins and processes of a mother-daughter relationship, she portrays every mood, temper, affection, and attitude of her mother with supreme honesty as if she is writing about some third person. She works along to relate the features of her mother鈥檚 personality to her social and cultural background rather than just presenting them as mere characteristics. She notices this way of writing seems to bring her closer to the truth she is exploring, relieves her of the dark, heavy burden of personal remembrance by establishing a more objective approach. She pens down their differences, their views which ought to be different due to different times and socio-economic settings, taboos about sex ad others, with utmost sincerity and honesty as she maintains while writing about their conformities and intimacies.
The book is not just an account of the mother-daughter relationship, it is about life and death, the circle of life, the eternal truth that we must lose the ones we love, in other words, the essence of life. Does it talk about what does it mean to be alive or existing? Does a mere breathing person may be said to be alive, to exist, what does her being consist of? Doesn鈥檛 it consist of all its possessions and losses, its successes and failures, lies and truths, its dreams and realities, in other words, everything that a man is made up of? What could be said then of a woman who loses cognizance of herself, meaning of her words, her life is being dictated by imagination, with no relation to reality, she loses her being, her existence, she invents life she longer could live, as if she is a living death. But could do away with her even then, if she is our mother. Perhaps it鈥檚 hard to assuage the wounds of hearts with reason.
The prose of the book is quite straightforward like a biography but it is not a typical biography, though it has a clear, poignant narrative but it鈥檚 neither a novel, it is a remembrance of the life history of a strong, radiant woman through the history of war and economic crisis, from a sociological and literary perspective. The narrative has a rhythmic flow like music with each note sharply detached from the other, the author though writes about her mother but she has been able to cultivate restrained and detached prose, deeply moving account of life and death, youth and age, imaginations, and reality, a poignant love story.
Is it the author鈥檚 story or her mother鈥檚 story or the story of every daughter, every mother, or every human being? The author has been able to condense out the essence of life from her life, perhaps beyond her life to her mother鈥檚. So, it鈥檚 the end of the author鈥檚 relationship with her mother as she is writing to separate her mother from her memories, to make her one with history; or the beginning of the eternal circle of life again to end so that it could begin again, and again.
link:
4.5/5
December 29, 2021
Annie Ernaux does not write to ease the pain of losing her mother; quite the contrary, she plunges into the intimacy of her grief to reach the other side: a place where her mother ceases to be "a large white shadow" to become a flesh and bone woman with a story.
Ernaux takes the maternal images and turns them over to write about the woman who existed outside of her, to give her a full existence and to talk about the life that defined her character.
This short memoir is an exquisite, terrible piece of writing that makes the literary self a collective character because Ernaux鈥檚 experience of losing her mother could very easily be our own. Being as far from a self-help book as it could be, this book offers an impressive and often uncomfortable glance at the process of ageing and the implications of a degenerative disease like Alzheimer.
Underneath a style that might seem detached, even cold, there lies a need to mitigate Ernaux鈥檚 loneliness without sounding false or self-indulgent, and the carefully described scenes of moments spent with her mother shine for their simplicity and honesty, creating an intimate ambiance that allows the reader to be part of the story of Ernaux鈥檚 mother.
鈥淎 woman鈥檚 story鈥� is a delicate tribute to a woman whose voice might not be heard anymore, but whose story, thanks to the love of her daughter, will be brought to life through the miracle of the written word. What a superb parting gift.
Ernaux takes the maternal images and turns them over to write about the woman who existed outside of her, to give her a full existence and to talk about the life that defined her character.
This short memoir is an exquisite, terrible piece of writing that makes the literary self a collective character because Ernaux鈥檚 experience of losing her mother could very easily be our own. Being as far from a self-help book as it could be, this book offers an impressive and often uncomfortable glance at the process of ageing and the implications of a degenerative disease like Alzheimer.
Underneath a style that might seem detached, even cold, there lies a need to mitigate Ernaux鈥檚 loneliness without sounding false or self-indulgent, and the carefully described scenes of moments spent with her mother shine for their simplicity and honesty, creating an intimate ambiance that allows the reader to be part of the story of Ernaux鈥檚 mother.
鈥淎 woman鈥檚 story鈥� is a delicate tribute to a woman whose voice might not be heard anymore, but whose story, thanks to the love of her daughter, will be brought to life through the miracle of the written word. What a superb parting gift.
October 11, 2022
Annie Ernaux's mother had Alzheimer鈥檚 disease as did my Grammy and mother. My eldest sister and my brother currently suffer from Alzheimer鈥檚. According to DNA tests I have at least one gene associated with the onset of Alzheimer鈥檚. And my blood contains proteins that some studies suggest causes Alzheimer鈥檚. In short, I take Alzheimer鈥檚 disease personally.
As I listened to this book's audio recording, I thought about the impact Alzheimer鈥檚 has had on people I have known, people I know, and the many, many people I don't know. On the one hand I can't imagine life without a fully functional brain. On the other hand I'm grateful that so far the disease has not destroyed my sister's or my brother's personality, nor has it limited their capacity to love and be loved.
As I listened to this book's audio recording, I thought about the impact Alzheimer鈥檚 has had on people I have known, people I know, and the many, many people I don't know. On the one hand I can't imagine life without a fully functional brain. On the other hand I'm grateful that so far the disease has not destroyed my sister's or my brother's personality, nor has it limited their capacity to love and be loved.
January 18, 2023
"My mother died, on Monday, April 7, in the nursing home of the Pontoise hospital where I placed her two years ago. The nurse said on the phone, 'Your mother passed away this morning after breakfast.' That was around ten o'clock."
Thus starts Annie Ernaux's slim book in which she memorialises her mother and their relationship, strikingly echoing Albert Camus's The Stranger. Less than two weeks after her mother's death in 1986, Annie Ernaux begins writing about her, she reconstructs her mother's life and death in her usual sober and precise manner. Veering between tenderness and sobriety, Annie Ernaux is in search for truth. Fragment by fragment, paragraph by paragraph, she works her way through her mother's life. She assembles individual scenes into a life that is at once individual and symptomatic - of a particular time, a particular region, a particular class.
Ernaux's mother comes from the working class and was born around the turn of the century in Normandy. Later, she and her husband opened a grocery store and restaurant. Her daughter, meanwhile, studies and soon belongs to the country's intellectual circles. Similar to Didier Eribon or 脡douard Louis, Annie Ernaux also struggles with the distance to her parental home, which has resulted from the growing difference in education alone.
"You could tell right away when something didn't suit her. Within the family, she said what she thought in harsh words. She called me cheeky, dirty, little beast or simply 'nuisance'. She hit me for little things, mainly slaps in the face, sometimes punches in the shoulder. [...] Five minutes later she pressed me against her, I was her 'little doll' again."
Such incidents serve Ernaux not only to evoke her mother's personality, but also to probe her social status and biography. She makes no secret of the fact that she is concerned with truth-seeking. Naturally, she struggles with conflicting daughterly feelings; on the one hand, she feels intimately connected to her mother, but on the other hand, she despises her for her desire for advancement, her brutality, and her small-mindedness. Ernaux relentlessly divides her confused emotional state, analyzing her then and now sensitivities with extreme precision. Annie Ernaux tells us about herself, but not in order to expose herself, but, whether intentionally or not, in order to share social and human observations. She tells the story of the human condition, en passant.
As in most parent-child relationships, shame plays a supporting role. The daughter is ashamed of the mother, partly because she fears being like her. The mother embodies everything the daughter no longer wants to be, everything she has left behind. Annie Ernaux begins to study, meets her husband, moves near Paris. Entering a new world, a kind of parallel universe where everything and everyone, not only mothers, seem different from where she comes from:
"My husband and I had the same level of education, we discussed Sartre and freedom, watched Antonioni's 'Those Who Play with Love' at the cinema, held the same left-wing views, didn't come from the same world. In his, one was not necessarily rich, but one had studied, had something clever to say on every subject, played bridge. My husband's mother, the same age as mine, had a slim body, a smooth face, well-groomed hands."
The subtle differences between the two worlds become even more glaring when the mother moves in with her daughter. To a house where people read Le Monde and listen to Bach. There, where Ernaux lives with her husband and two sons, new battle lines emerge for the well-rehearsed mother-daughter skirmishes. The demands Annie Ernaux makes on herself as a daughter collide painfully with the demands she makes on her mother. Again and again, she draws individual experiences to a collective, general human level. This leads her, for example, to the following beautiful conclusion:
"Again we talked to each other in a very particular tone, a mixture of annoyance and eternal reproach that always wrongly gave the impression that we were arguing, a tone between mother and daughter that I would recognize in any language."
It is a decidedly female perspective from which Annie Ernaux tells the story. And like probably many girls, she thought she would have to be like her own mother when she grew up. This arc encompasses her own growing up and growing old. In the end, she takes on mothering duties for her mother in need of care, caring for the old woman who has become forgetful and dorky, feeding her chocolate like a little child. These are heartbreaking scenes that Ernaux puts to paper with her usual few strokes. Scenes in which she cries because her mother has become so different from her childhood. As countless women before her, Annie Ernaux had to helplessly watch on as her mother grew old, and eventually had to bit her farewell.
For Ernaux, this book is neither biography nor novel, but rather something between literature, sociology and historiography. With her mother then dies the last connection to that world into which she was born:
"I will never hear her voice again. It was she, her words, her hands, her gestures, her walk and her way of laughing that connected the woman I am today with the child I had been. I have lost the last bridge to the world from which I came."
Une Femme is a book that, despite its brevity, will stick with its readers, will resonate with mothers and daughters everywhere. I, for my part, could see a lot of myself and my mom in this book. And when I gifted her this book for Christmas she devoured it as well and saw a lot of herself and her mom (my grandmother) in this book as well. Ernaux speaks to the human condition, to the universal bond that mothers and daughters share. It's hard to not to be swept up by her prose. Ernaux gives her readers lots to ponder over.
TW: There is a casual mention of the n-word, so beware of that! Additionally, some of Ernaux's comparisons are insensitive and offensive, e.g. when she likens her own distress at her mother's insults to "those African mothers who hold the arms of their daughters behind their backs so that their clitoris can be cut off". This comparison not only diminishes the trauma and pain of women and girls who had to go through Female Genital Mutilation (which is undoubtedly a million times worse than having an insult thrown in your face) but also stereotypes and devalues African women as a whole. Ernaux's throwaway statement does not do justice to the complexity of the problem, since "those African mothers", about whom Ernaux so disparagingly speaks, are, in most cases, also victims of FGM themselves.
Thus starts Annie Ernaux's slim book in which she memorialises her mother and their relationship, strikingly echoing Albert Camus's The Stranger. Less than two weeks after her mother's death in 1986, Annie Ernaux begins writing about her, she reconstructs her mother's life and death in her usual sober and precise manner. Veering between tenderness and sobriety, Annie Ernaux is in search for truth. Fragment by fragment, paragraph by paragraph, she works her way through her mother's life. She assembles individual scenes into a life that is at once individual and symptomatic - of a particular time, a particular region, a particular class.
Ernaux's mother comes from the working class and was born around the turn of the century in Normandy. Later, she and her husband opened a grocery store and restaurant. Her daughter, meanwhile, studies and soon belongs to the country's intellectual circles. Similar to Didier Eribon or 脡douard Louis, Annie Ernaux also struggles with the distance to her parental home, which has resulted from the growing difference in education alone.
"You could tell right away when something didn't suit her. Within the family, she said what she thought in harsh words. She called me cheeky, dirty, little beast or simply 'nuisance'. She hit me for little things, mainly slaps in the face, sometimes punches in the shoulder. [...] Five minutes later she pressed me against her, I was her 'little doll' again."
Such incidents serve Ernaux not only to evoke her mother's personality, but also to probe her social status and biography. She makes no secret of the fact that she is concerned with truth-seeking. Naturally, she struggles with conflicting daughterly feelings; on the one hand, she feels intimately connected to her mother, but on the other hand, she despises her for her desire for advancement, her brutality, and her small-mindedness. Ernaux relentlessly divides her confused emotional state, analyzing her then and now sensitivities with extreme precision. Annie Ernaux tells us about herself, but not in order to expose herself, but, whether intentionally or not, in order to share social and human observations. She tells the story of the human condition, en passant.
As in most parent-child relationships, shame plays a supporting role. The daughter is ashamed of the mother, partly because she fears being like her. The mother embodies everything the daughter no longer wants to be, everything she has left behind. Annie Ernaux begins to study, meets her husband, moves near Paris. Entering a new world, a kind of parallel universe where everything and everyone, not only mothers, seem different from where she comes from:
"My husband and I had the same level of education, we discussed Sartre and freedom, watched Antonioni's 'Those Who Play with Love' at the cinema, held the same left-wing views, didn't come from the same world. In his, one was not necessarily rich, but one had studied, had something clever to say on every subject, played bridge. My husband's mother, the same age as mine, had a slim body, a smooth face, well-groomed hands."
The subtle differences between the two worlds become even more glaring when the mother moves in with her daughter. To a house where people read Le Monde and listen to Bach. There, where Ernaux lives with her husband and two sons, new battle lines emerge for the well-rehearsed mother-daughter skirmishes. The demands Annie Ernaux makes on herself as a daughter collide painfully with the demands she makes on her mother. Again and again, she draws individual experiences to a collective, general human level. This leads her, for example, to the following beautiful conclusion:
"Again we talked to each other in a very particular tone, a mixture of annoyance and eternal reproach that always wrongly gave the impression that we were arguing, a tone between mother and daughter that I would recognize in any language."
It is a decidedly female perspective from which Annie Ernaux tells the story. And like probably many girls, she thought she would have to be like her own mother when she grew up. This arc encompasses her own growing up and growing old. In the end, she takes on mothering duties for her mother in need of care, caring for the old woman who has become forgetful and dorky, feeding her chocolate like a little child. These are heartbreaking scenes that Ernaux puts to paper with her usual few strokes. Scenes in which she cries because her mother has become so different from her childhood. As countless women before her, Annie Ernaux had to helplessly watch on as her mother grew old, and eventually had to bit her farewell.
For Ernaux, this book is neither biography nor novel, but rather something between literature, sociology and historiography. With her mother then dies the last connection to that world into which she was born:
"I will never hear her voice again. It was she, her words, her hands, her gestures, her walk and her way of laughing that connected the woman I am today with the child I had been. I have lost the last bridge to the world from which I came."
Une Femme is a book that, despite its brevity, will stick with its readers, will resonate with mothers and daughters everywhere. I, for my part, could see a lot of myself and my mom in this book. And when I gifted her this book for Christmas she devoured it as well and saw a lot of herself and her mom (my grandmother) in this book as well. Ernaux speaks to the human condition, to the universal bond that mothers and daughters share. It's hard to not to be swept up by her prose. Ernaux gives her readers lots to ponder over.
TW: There is a casual mention of the n-word, so beware of that! Additionally, some of Ernaux's comparisons are insensitive and offensive, e.g. when she likens her own distress at her mother's insults to "those African mothers who hold the arms of their daughters behind their backs so that their clitoris can be cut off". This comparison not only diminishes the trauma and pain of women and girls who had to go through Female Genital Mutilation (which is undoubtedly a million times worse than having an insult thrown in your face) but also stereotypes and devalues African women as a whole. Ernaux's throwaway statement does not do justice to the complexity of the problem, since "those African mothers", about whom Ernaux so disparagingly speaks, are, in most cases, also victims of FGM themselves.
July 16, 2023
A very short read in which the author describes the life of her mother.
It starts with her mother鈥檚 birth in 1906 in France and tells of her childhood, teen years, marriage and then of course to her own birth and the mother/daughter relationship.. the love, the conflicts..the beauty..the exasperations.
The very moving part comes as her mother ages and eventually gets Alzheimers..
She starts to write this right after her mother鈥檚 death.
"I shall never hear the sound of her voice again鈥攖he last bond between me and the world I come from has been severed.''
So.. yes.. deeply affecting and I plan to read much more of her.
It starts with her mother鈥檚 birth in 1906 in France and tells of her childhood, teen years, marriage and then of course to her own birth and the mother/daughter relationship.. the love, the conflicts..the beauty..the exasperations.
The very moving part comes as her mother ages and eventually gets Alzheimers..
She starts to write this right after her mother鈥檚 death.
"I shall never hear the sound of her voice again鈥攖he last bond between me and the world I come from has been severed.''
So.. yes.. deeply affecting and I plan to read much more of her.
April 3, 2023
**SPOILERS**
I wrote this purely and selfishly for myself 鈥�
This book was gut-experiential amazing鈥�.
Annie Ernaux can write!! Boy, can she write. I鈥檝e loved other books by her - will read more 鈥�.
but this one is very personal to me 鈥� as I suspect it is for any mother or daughter, who reads it.
Annie reveals the story of her mother鈥檚 life 鈥�.
and the things I wrote on this page is for me to easily refer back too.
The prose is brilliant: so real 鈥� yet suspending judgment of herself and her mother with remarkably expressive sentences.
We get it!!!!
鈥淚 believe I am writing about my mother, because it is my turn to bring her into the world鈥�.
鈥淭omorrow, it will be three weeks since the funeral. It was only the day before yesterday that I overcame the fear of writing My Mother died on a blank sheet of paper, not as the first line of a letter but as the opening of a book. I could even bring myself to look at some of her photographs. One of them shows her sitting on the banks of the Seine, her legs tucked neatly beneath her. It鈥檚 a black-and-white photograph, but I can clearly see her flaming red hair, and the sun reflected in her black alpaca suit鈥�.
鈥�.鈥滻 bought her chocolates and pastries, which I cut up into little pieces and fed to her. At first, I always got the wrong sort of cake鈥攊t was either too firm or too creamy-and she couldn鈥檛 eat it (the indescribable pain of seeing her struggle with the crumbs, using her tongue and her fingers to finish them up). I washed your hands, shaved her face, and sprinkled her with perfume.鈥�
鈥淚 shall continue to write about my mother. She is the only woman who really meant something to me, and she had been suffering from senile dementia for two years鈥�.
鈥淢y mother, was the one with the proud, violent temper. She was aware that she had belonged to the lower class, and she resented it, refusing to be judged according to her social status alone. She would often say of the rich, 鈥楾hey鈥檙e no better than us鈥�. She was an attractive blonde with gray eyes, pleasantly plump, and bursting with health. She read anything she could lay hands on. She enjoyed singing the latest popular songs, making up, and going out with friends to the cinema鈥�.
鈥�.Mother enjoyed the beach.
鈥�.Mother liked wearing the color mauve.
鈥�.鈥滿other was always in a rush. She never had time to do the cooking and look after the house 鈥榩roperly鈥�, sewing on a button seconds, before I left for school, or ironing her blouse on a corner of the kitchen table before slipping it on . . . 鈥�
鈥�.Blonde hair, or sometimes reddish hair, a lively, personality, energetic, generous.
鈥︹€漈he slightest incident or remark would be an excuse for her to pick a quarrel with her brothers and sisters, or release her anger against their living conditions鈥�.
鈥�.鈥滿other didn鈥檛 like to see me grow up鈥濃€�..
She knew I longed to seduce the boys, I knew she was terrified. I would 鈥榟ave an accident鈥�, in other words, that I would start to sleep around and get pregnant鈥�.
鈥淪ometimes I imagined her death would have met nothing to me鈥�.
鈥�.鈥漈he argument she had with my father, always centered on the same subject: the amount of work they carried out, respectively. She used to complain: 鈥業鈥檓 the one who does everything around here鈥欌€�.
鈥�.鈥漁n Sunday afternoons, she would lie down and her slip in stockings. She let me crawl into bed next to her. She fell asleep quickly, while I read, huddled up against her back鈥�.
鈥�.鈥漌hen I think of my mother鈥檚 violent temper, outbursts of affection, and reproachful attitude, I try not to see them as facets of her personality, but to relate to them to her own story and social background. This way of writing, which seems to bring me closer to the truth, relieves me of the dark, heavy burden of personal remembrance, by establishing a more objective approach. And yet some thing deep down inside, refuses to yield and wants me to remember my mother, purely in emotional terms鈥攁ffection or tears鈥攚ithout searching for explanation鈥�.
鈥�..鈥滱s I write, I see her, sometimes as a 鈥榞ood鈥�, sometimes as a 鈥榖ad鈥� mother. To get away from these contrasting views, which come from my earliest childhood, I try to describe and explain her life as if I were writing about someone else鈥檚 mother, and a daughter, who wasn鈥檛 me鈥�.
鈥�.鈥滻 shall never hear the sound of your voice again. It was her voice, together with her words, her hands, and her way of moving, and laughing, which linked the woman I am to the child I once was. The last bond between me and the world I come from has been severed鈥�
鈥擲unday 20 April 1986 - 26 February 1987
A phenomenal work of truth鈥�.
These memories鈥�.written almost as a meditation 鈥�.could easily be read over and over again 鈥�.
Perhaps once a year on a special date of remembrance.
I felt as if I was holding hands with acceptance and forgiveness!
I wrote this purely and selfishly for myself 鈥�
This book was gut-experiential amazing鈥�.
Annie Ernaux can write!! Boy, can she write. I鈥檝e loved other books by her - will read more 鈥�.
but this one is very personal to me 鈥� as I suspect it is for any mother or daughter, who reads it.
Annie reveals the story of her mother鈥檚 life 鈥�.
and the things I wrote on this page is for me to easily refer back too.
The prose is brilliant: so real 鈥� yet suspending judgment of herself and her mother with remarkably expressive sentences.
We get it!!!!
鈥淚 believe I am writing about my mother, because it is my turn to bring her into the world鈥�.
鈥淭omorrow, it will be three weeks since the funeral. It was only the day before yesterday that I overcame the fear of writing My Mother died on a blank sheet of paper, not as the first line of a letter but as the opening of a book. I could even bring myself to look at some of her photographs. One of them shows her sitting on the banks of the Seine, her legs tucked neatly beneath her. It鈥檚 a black-and-white photograph, but I can clearly see her flaming red hair, and the sun reflected in her black alpaca suit鈥�.
鈥�.鈥滻 bought her chocolates and pastries, which I cut up into little pieces and fed to her. At first, I always got the wrong sort of cake鈥攊t was either too firm or too creamy-and she couldn鈥檛 eat it (the indescribable pain of seeing her struggle with the crumbs, using her tongue and her fingers to finish them up). I washed your hands, shaved her face, and sprinkled her with perfume.鈥�
鈥淚 shall continue to write about my mother. She is the only woman who really meant something to me, and she had been suffering from senile dementia for two years鈥�.
鈥淢y mother, was the one with the proud, violent temper. She was aware that she had belonged to the lower class, and she resented it, refusing to be judged according to her social status alone. She would often say of the rich, 鈥楾hey鈥檙e no better than us鈥�. She was an attractive blonde with gray eyes, pleasantly plump, and bursting with health. She read anything she could lay hands on. She enjoyed singing the latest popular songs, making up, and going out with friends to the cinema鈥�.
鈥�.Mother enjoyed the beach.
鈥�.Mother liked wearing the color mauve.
鈥�.鈥滿other was always in a rush. She never had time to do the cooking and look after the house 鈥榩roperly鈥�, sewing on a button seconds, before I left for school, or ironing her blouse on a corner of the kitchen table before slipping it on . . . 鈥�
鈥�.Blonde hair, or sometimes reddish hair, a lively, personality, energetic, generous.
鈥︹€漈he slightest incident or remark would be an excuse for her to pick a quarrel with her brothers and sisters, or release her anger against their living conditions鈥�.
鈥�.鈥滿other didn鈥檛 like to see me grow up鈥濃€�..
She knew I longed to seduce the boys, I knew she was terrified. I would 鈥榟ave an accident鈥�, in other words, that I would start to sleep around and get pregnant鈥�.
鈥淪ometimes I imagined her death would have met nothing to me鈥�.
鈥�.鈥漈he argument she had with my father, always centered on the same subject: the amount of work they carried out, respectively. She used to complain: 鈥業鈥檓 the one who does everything around here鈥欌€�.
鈥�.鈥漁n Sunday afternoons, she would lie down and her slip in stockings. She let me crawl into bed next to her. She fell asleep quickly, while I read, huddled up against her back鈥�.
鈥�.鈥漌hen I think of my mother鈥檚 violent temper, outbursts of affection, and reproachful attitude, I try not to see them as facets of her personality, but to relate to them to her own story and social background. This way of writing, which seems to bring me closer to the truth, relieves me of the dark, heavy burden of personal remembrance, by establishing a more objective approach. And yet some thing deep down inside, refuses to yield and wants me to remember my mother, purely in emotional terms鈥攁ffection or tears鈥攚ithout searching for explanation鈥�.
鈥�..鈥滱s I write, I see her, sometimes as a 鈥榞ood鈥�, sometimes as a 鈥榖ad鈥� mother. To get away from these contrasting views, which come from my earliest childhood, I try to describe and explain her life as if I were writing about someone else鈥檚 mother, and a daughter, who wasn鈥檛 me鈥�.
鈥�.鈥滻 shall never hear the sound of your voice again. It was her voice, together with her words, her hands, and her way of moving, and laughing, which linked the woman I am to the child I once was. The last bond between me and the world I come from has been severed鈥�
鈥擲unday 20 April 1986 - 26 February 1987
A phenomenal work of truth鈥�.
These memories鈥�.written almost as a meditation 鈥�.could easily be read over and over again 鈥�.
Perhaps once a year on a special date of remembrance.
I felt as if I was holding hands with acceptance and forgiveness!
July 2, 2023
babam谋 kaybettim. onu yazarak hat谋rlamak san谋r谋m hayatta en ho艧uma giden 艧ey 艧u an.
ben babam谋 her g眉n aramazd谋m, her g眉n soracak bir 艧eyim olmazd谋. 莽ocuk do臒urdu臒um g眉nden ba艧layarak annem olmaya ba艧lad谋m. 莽ocukken babamla evlenmek istemem, hayatta en 莽ok ona d眉艧k眉nl眉臒眉m yava艧 yava艧 yok oldu. annemi her g眉n arar谋m. en ufak bir 艧eyi sorar谋m. ve san谋r谋m annemin istedi臒i gibi ba臒 kurabildi臒i, 2,5 sene emzirdi臒i son 莽ocuk olarak aram谋zda g眉venli ba臒lanma denilen 艧ey olu艧mu艧. sorunsuz bir ili艧kimiz var.
bu nedenle annemin yoklu臒unu d眉艧眉nemem bile. babamla kurdu臒um ba臒谋m d谋艧谋nda bamba艧ka bir 艧ey 莽眉nk眉. onu aray谋p herhangi bir yemek tarifini soramad谋臒谋m g眉n眉 d眉艧眉nemem.
oysa annie ernaux鈥檔un 鈥渂ir kad谋n鈥� kitab谋 tam da bunu d眉艧眉nd眉r眉yor. annesini yeniden d眉nyaya getiriyor, kendi s枚zleriyle. bundan daha zor ne olabilir? onu tarihin k眉莽眉k insanlar谋 yok sayan sayfalar谋ndan al谋p 莽谋kar谋yor.
son y谋llarda moda olan otobiyografik anlat谋 ne kadar bana uygun, nas谋l 鈥渂en鈥� bilmiyorum anlatabilir miyim. annie ernaux鈥檔un roman olmayan bu anlat谋lar谋na, toplumsalla bireysel olan谋n aras谋nda kurdu臒u k枚pr眉ye tap谋yorum. bu benim de an谋 yazarak yapmaya 莽al谋艧t谋臒谋m bir 艧ey.
ac谋s谋n谋 dibine kadar hissetti臒im, benim de annemi anlatmak istedi臒im bir okuma s眉reci oldu. ama yeniden do臒urman谋n da vakti var. s谋n谋fsal ve ahlaki farklar, 莽at谋艧ma, huzurevine yat谋r谋lan bir annenin yaratt谋臒谋 vicdan azab谋 枚ylesine 莽谋plak ve nesnel bir bi莽imde yaz谋lm谋艧 ki ernaux鈥檔un b眉y眉kl眉臒眉n眉 ve cesaretini yeniden anlad谋m.
ve burada 鈥測眉z眉c眉ler鈥漝eki ahlak莽谋 bak谋艧谋n olmamas谋 ayr谋ca ho艧uma gitti. do臒u ve bat谋 k眉lt眉r眉 aras谋ndaki fark i艧te b枚yle de bariz.
y谋llard谋r en 枚nemli i艧i babama bakmak olan annemin babam谋n yoklu臒undan sonraki zihin yava艧lamas谋, dikkat da臒谋n谋kl谋臒谋, bunu hissedip de hi莽bir 艧ey yapamamak, yemek yerken ayn谋 anneannem gibi ekme臒i k眉莽眉k par莽alara ay谋rd谋臒谋n谋 g枚rmek, ya艧land谋臒谋 ger莽e臒iyle kar艧谋 kar艧谋ya olmak bana ac谋 veriyor. bunu da yazmak gerekecek bir g眉n.
bir insan谋 b枚ylesine anlatabilmek zor ve g枚rkemli. ernaux鈥檔un babas谋n谋 okudum. gen莽li臒ini okudum. babas谋n谋 莽ok daha duygusal anlatm谋艧t谋 s谋n谋f meselesinden dolay谋. annesiyle ili艧kisi daha mesafeli anlat谋lm谋艧, bunu yapmaya 莽al谋艧谋yor zaten ama ni莽in bu kadar tan谋d谋k ve en dokunan oldu, onu da san谋r谋m anneler ve k谋zlar谋 anlar. 莽眉nk眉 bu ili艧ki ne kadar anlat谋lsa bitmez.
ben babam谋 her g眉n aramazd谋m, her g眉n soracak bir 艧eyim olmazd谋. 莽ocuk do臒urdu臒um g眉nden ba艧layarak annem olmaya ba艧lad谋m. 莽ocukken babamla evlenmek istemem, hayatta en 莽ok ona d眉艧k眉nl眉臒眉m yava艧 yava艧 yok oldu. annemi her g眉n arar谋m. en ufak bir 艧eyi sorar谋m. ve san谋r谋m annemin istedi臒i gibi ba臒 kurabildi臒i, 2,5 sene emzirdi臒i son 莽ocuk olarak aram谋zda g眉venli ba臒lanma denilen 艧ey olu艧mu艧. sorunsuz bir ili艧kimiz var.
bu nedenle annemin yoklu臒unu d眉艧眉nemem bile. babamla kurdu臒um ba臒谋m d谋艧谋nda bamba艧ka bir 艧ey 莽眉nk眉. onu aray谋p herhangi bir yemek tarifini soramad谋臒谋m g眉n眉 d眉艧眉nemem.
oysa annie ernaux鈥檔un 鈥渂ir kad谋n鈥� kitab谋 tam da bunu d眉艧眉nd眉r眉yor. annesini yeniden d眉nyaya getiriyor, kendi s枚zleriyle. bundan daha zor ne olabilir? onu tarihin k眉莽眉k insanlar谋 yok sayan sayfalar谋ndan al谋p 莽谋kar谋yor.
son y谋llarda moda olan otobiyografik anlat谋 ne kadar bana uygun, nas谋l 鈥渂en鈥� bilmiyorum anlatabilir miyim. annie ernaux鈥檔un roman olmayan bu anlat谋lar谋na, toplumsalla bireysel olan谋n aras谋nda kurdu臒u k枚pr眉ye tap谋yorum. bu benim de an谋 yazarak yapmaya 莽al谋艧t谋臒谋m bir 艧ey.
ac谋s谋n谋 dibine kadar hissetti臒im, benim de annemi anlatmak istedi臒im bir okuma s眉reci oldu. ama yeniden do臒urman谋n da vakti var. s谋n谋fsal ve ahlaki farklar, 莽at谋艧ma, huzurevine yat谋r谋lan bir annenin yaratt谋臒谋 vicdan azab谋 枚ylesine 莽谋plak ve nesnel bir bi莽imde yaz谋lm谋艧 ki ernaux鈥檔un b眉y眉kl眉臒眉n眉 ve cesaretini yeniden anlad谋m.
ve burada 鈥測眉z眉c眉ler鈥漝eki ahlak莽谋 bak谋艧谋n olmamas谋 ayr谋ca ho艧uma gitti. do臒u ve bat谋 k眉lt眉r眉 aras谋ndaki fark i艧te b枚yle de bariz.
y谋llard谋r en 枚nemli i艧i babama bakmak olan annemin babam谋n yoklu臒undan sonraki zihin yava艧lamas谋, dikkat da臒谋n谋kl谋臒谋, bunu hissedip de hi莽bir 艧ey yapamamak, yemek yerken ayn谋 anneannem gibi ekme臒i k眉莽眉k par莽alara ay谋rd谋臒谋n谋 g枚rmek, ya艧land谋臒谋 ger莽e臒iyle kar艧谋 kar艧谋ya olmak bana ac谋 veriyor. bunu da yazmak gerekecek bir g眉n.
bir insan谋 b枚ylesine anlatabilmek zor ve g枚rkemli. ernaux鈥檔un babas谋n谋 okudum. gen莽li臒ini okudum. babas谋n谋 莽ok daha duygusal anlatm谋艧t谋 s谋n谋f meselesinden dolay谋. annesiyle ili艧kisi daha mesafeli anlat谋lm谋艧, bunu yapmaya 莽al谋艧谋yor zaten ama ni莽in bu kadar tan谋d谋k ve en dokunan oldu, onu da san谋r谋m anneler ve k谋zlar谋 anlar. 莽眉nk眉 bu ili艧ki ne kadar anlat谋lsa bitmez.
February 17, 2024
"賱賳 兀爻賲毓 氐賵鬲賴丕 賲噩丿丿丕賸. 廿賳賴丕 賴賷 貙 賵賰賱賲丕鬲賴丕 賵賷丿丕賴丕 賵丨乇賰丕鬲賴丕 賵兀爻賱賵亘賴丕 賮賷 丕賱囟丨賰 賵賲卮賷鬲賴丕 貙 賲賳 賰丕賳鬲 鬲賵丨丿 丕賱賲乇兀丞 丕賱鬲賷 兀賳丕 毓賱賷賴丕 丕賱賷賵賲 亘丕賱胤賮賱丞 丕賱鬲賷 賰賳鬲賴丕 賮賷 丕賱爻丕亘賯. 賵亘賲賵鬲賴丕 賮賯丿鬲 丌禺乇 乇丕亘胤 亘賷賳賷 賵亘賷賳 丕賱毓丕賱賲 丕賱匕賷 噩卅鬲 賲賳賴 "
亘賲賵鬲賴丕 賮賯丿鬲 卮賷卅丕 賱丕 兀爻鬲胤賷毓 賵氐賮賴 丕賵 丕賱丨丿賷孬 毓賳賴 . 賲乇乇鬲 胤賵丕賱 丨賷丕鬲賷 賲孬賱 丕賱賰孬賷乇 亘賰孬賷乇 賲賳 丕賱鬲噩丕乇亘 賵丕賱賲賵丕賯賮 丕賱鬲賷 兀乇賴賯鬲賳賶 賵兀丨夭賳鬲賳賷 賵兀亘賰鬲賳賷 賵賰爻乇鬲 卮賷卅丕 亘丿丕禺賱賷 .賱賰賳 賰賱 匕賱賰 兀賲丕賲 賱丨馗丞 爻賲丕毓 禺亘乇 賵賮丕丞 賵丕賱丿鬲賷 賵乇丐賷丞 噩孬賲丕賳賴丕 賱丕 賷毓賳賷 卮賷卅丕 貙賮賷 賴匕賴 丕賱賱丨馗丞 賴丕賳鬲 兀賲丕賲 毓賷賳賷 賰賱 賲丕 賲乇乇鬲 亘賴 賲賳 賯亘賱 賵鬲噩丕賵夭鬲 丕賶 兀賱賲 賵兀賶 賮賯丿 賲乇乇鬲 亘賴 賲賳 賯亘賱 . 卮毓乇鬲 丕賳 賰賱 氐丿賲丕鬲 丨賷丕鬲賷 賱丕 鬲爻丕賵賶 卮賷卅丕 丕賲丕賲 賴匕賴 丕賱氐丿賲丞 .
鬲氐毓亘 毓賱賶 亘卮丿丞 賰鬲丕亘丞 賴匕賴 丕賱賰賱賲丕鬲 . 賷氐毓亘 毓賱賶 鬲氐丿賷賯 丕賳賴丕 賱賲 鬲毓丿 賲賵噩賵丿丞 貙 賷氐毓亘 毓賱賶 賯賵賱 " 丕賱賱賴 賷乇丨賲賴丕 " 亘毓丿 賰賱 丨丿賷孬 毓賳賴丕 .賷毓鬲氐乇 賯賱亘賷 賮賯丿丕賳賴丕 賵丕賳 兀氐丨賵 賮賷 賲賳夭賱 賷禺賱賵 賲賳賴丕 .
"賮賷 丕賱兀爻亘賵毓 丕賱賲賵丕賱賷 貙 賰丕賳鬲 賳賵亘丕鬲 亘賰丕亍 鬲賮丕噩卅賳賷 賮賷 賰賱 賲賰丕賳 "
丨賷賳 兀乇賷 賰鬲丕亘 賷鬲丨丿孬 亘賴 丕賱賰丕鬲亘 毓賳 賵賮丕丞 賵丕賱丿鬲賴 兀乇睾亘 賮賵乇丕 賮賷 賯乇丕卅鬲賴 貙 丕乇睾亘 賮賷 廿賷噩丕丿 賲丕 賷毓亘乇 毓賳賷 貙 賲丕 賷賱丕賲爻 賲丕 丕卮毓乇 亘賴 貙 兀乇睾亘 亘賲賳 賷卮丕乇賰賳賷 賲卮丕毓乇賷 丿賵賳 兀賳 賷禺亘乇賳賷 " 丕毓賱賲 賲丕 鬲賲乇賷賳 亘賴 " 丕賵 " 賳毓賲 賱賯丿 卮毓乇鬲 亘賲卮丕毓乇賰 賲賳 賯亘賱 " .兀毓乇賮 丕賳 賰賱 賲賳 賮賯丿 賵丕賱丿鬲賴 兀賵 賵丕賱丿賴 賲乇 亘賲丕 兀賲乇 亘賴 賱賰賳 賴匕賴 賲卮丕毓乇賷 兀賳丕 賵丨賷丕鬲賷 貙 賱丕 兀賯賱賱 賲賳 賲卮丕毓乇 丕賱兀禺乇賷賳 賱賰賳賷 賲丐賲賳丞 兀賳 賰賱 卮禺氐 賲賳丕 賱賴 胤乇賷賯鬲賴 賮賷 丕賱鬲毓丕賲賱 賲毓 丕賱兀賲賵乇 賵兀賳 賲卮丕毓乇 賰賱 賲賳丕 鬲禺鬲賱賮 賲賳 卮禺氐 賱丌禺乇 丨鬲賶 賱賵 賲乇乇賳丕 亘賳賮爻 丕賱賲賵賯賮 .
馗賳賳鬲 丕賳賶 爻兀噩丿 卮賷卅丕 賲丕 賴賳丕 賱賰賳賷 賱賲 兀噩丿 爻賵賶 賰賱賲丕鬲 亘爻賷胤丞 鬲毓亘乇 亘賴丕 毓賳 賮賯丿丕賳 賵丕賱丿鬲賴丕 .
丕賱賰丕鬲亘丞 賮賷 丕賱睾丕賱亘 鬲爻乇丿 賱賳丕 丨賰丕賷丞 賵丕賱丿鬲賴丕貙 胤賮賵賱鬲賴丕 賵卮亘丕亘賴丕 賵賲丕 賲乇鬲 亘賴 賲賳 氐毓賵亘丕鬲 孬賲 鬲賯氐 毓賱賷賳丕 賱賯丕卅賴丕 亘賵丕賱丿賴丕 賵賵賱丕丿鬲賴丕 賵卮禺氐賷丞 兀賲賴丕 賵毓賱丕賯鬲賴丕 亘賴丕 毓賱賶 賲丿丕乇 爻賳賵丕鬲 丨賷丕鬲賴丕 賲賳 胤賮賵賱鬲賴丕 賱賲乇丕賴賯鬲賴丕 賱卮亘丕亘賴丕 賵夭賵丕噩賴丕 賵廿賳噩丕亘賴丕 賱兀胤賮丕賱賴丕 貙 賵兀毓鬲賯丿 丕賳 噩賲賷毓 丕賱毓賱丕賯丕鬲 鬲爻賵丿賴丕 丕丨賷丕賳丕 丕賱鬲賮丕賴賲 賵丕賱丨亘 賵丕丨賷丕賳丕 丕禺乇賷 丕賱禺賱丕賮丕鬲 賵丕賱丕禺鬲賱丕賮丕鬲 . 賴賳丕賰 賱丨馗丕鬲 丕賱丨賳丕賳 賵賱丨馗丕鬲 丕賱賯爻賵丞 .
賵鬲爻鬲賲乇 丨賰丕賷丕鬲 丕賱賰丕鬲亘丞 毓賳 賵丕賱丿鬲賴丕 丨鬲賶 卮賷禺賵禺鬲賴丕 賵鬲丿賴賵乇 丨丕賱鬲賴丕 賲毓 丕賱夭賴丕賷賲乇 賵丨鬲賶 賵賮丕鬲賴丕...
佗伽 / 佟佟 / 佗贍佗佗
亘賲賵鬲賴丕 賮賯丿鬲 卮賷卅丕 賱丕 兀爻鬲胤賷毓 賵氐賮賴 丕賵 丕賱丨丿賷孬 毓賳賴 . 賲乇乇鬲 胤賵丕賱 丨賷丕鬲賷 賲孬賱 丕賱賰孬賷乇 亘賰孬賷乇 賲賳 丕賱鬲噩丕乇亘 賵丕賱賲賵丕賯賮 丕賱鬲賷 兀乇賴賯鬲賳賶 賵兀丨夭賳鬲賳賷 賵兀亘賰鬲賳賷 賵賰爻乇鬲 卮賷卅丕 亘丿丕禺賱賷 .賱賰賳 賰賱 匕賱賰 兀賲丕賲 賱丨馗丞 爻賲丕毓 禺亘乇 賵賮丕丞 賵丕賱丿鬲賷 賵乇丐賷丞 噩孬賲丕賳賴丕 賱丕 賷毓賳賷 卮賷卅丕 貙賮賷 賴匕賴 丕賱賱丨馗丞 賴丕賳鬲 兀賲丕賲 毓賷賳賷 賰賱 賲丕 賲乇乇鬲 亘賴 賲賳 賯亘賱 賵鬲噩丕賵夭鬲 丕賶 兀賱賲 賵兀賶 賮賯丿 賲乇乇鬲 亘賴 賲賳 賯亘賱 . 卮毓乇鬲 丕賳 賰賱 氐丿賲丕鬲 丨賷丕鬲賷 賱丕 鬲爻丕賵賶 卮賷卅丕 丕賲丕賲 賴匕賴 丕賱氐丿賲丞 .
鬲氐毓亘 毓賱賶 亘卮丿丞 賰鬲丕亘丞 賴匕賴 丕賱賰賱賲丕鬲 . 賷氐毓亘 毓賱賶 鬲氐丿賷賯 丕賳賴丕 賱賲 鬲毓丿 賲賵噩賵丿丞 貙 賷氐毓亘 毓賱賶 賯賵賱 " 丕賱賱賴 賷乇丨賲賴丕 " 亘毓丿 賰賱 丨丿賷孬 毓賳賴丕 .賷毓鬲氐乇 賯賱亘賷 賮賯丿丕賳賴丕 賵丕賳 兀氐丨賵 賮賷 賲賳夭賱 賷禺賱賵 賲賳賴丕 .
"賮賷 丕賱兀爻亘賵毓 丕賱賲賵丕賱賷 貙 賰丕賳鬲 賳賵亘丕鬲 亘賰丕亍 鬲賮丕噩卅賳賷 賮賷 賰賱 賲賰丕賳 "
丨賷賳 兀乇賷 賰鬲丕亘 賷鬲丨丿孬 亘賴 丕賱賰丕鬲亘 毓賳 賵賮丕丞 賵丕賱丿鬲賴 兀乇睾亘 賮賵乇丕 賮賷 賯乇丕卅鬲賴 貙 丕乇睾亘 賮賷 廿賷噩丕丿 賲丕 賷毓亘乇 毓賳賷 貙 賲丕 賷賱丕賲爻 賲丕 丕卮毓乇 亘賴 貙 兀乇睾亘 亘賲賳 賷卮丕乇賰賳賷 賲卮丕毓乇賷 丿賵賳 兀賳 賷禺亘乇賳賷 " 丕毓賱賲 賲丕 鬲賲乇賷賳 亘賴 " 丕賵 " 賳毓賲 賱賯丿 卮毓乇鬲 亘賲卮丕毓乇賰 賲賳 賯亘賱 " .兀毓乇賮 丕賳 賰賱 賲賳 賮賯丿 賵丕賱丿鬲賴 兀賵 賵丕賱丿賴 賲乇 亘賲丕 兀賲乇 亘賴 賱賰賳 賴匕賴 賲卮丕毓乇賷 兀賳丕 賵丨賷丕鬲賷 貙 賱丕 兀賯賱賱 賲賳 賲卮丕毓乇 丕賱兀禺乇賷賳 賱賰賳賷 賲丐賲賳丞 兀賳 賰賱 卮禺氐 賲賳丕 賱賴 胤乇賷賯鬲賴 賮賷 丕賱鬲毓丕賲賱 賲毓 丕賱兀賲賵乇 賵兀賳 賲卮丕毓乇 賰賱 賲賳丕 鬲禺鬲賱賮 賲賳 卮禺氐 賱丌禺乇 丨鬲賶 賱賵 賲乇乇賳丕 亘賳賮爻 丕賱賲賵賯賮 .
馗賳賳鬲 丕賳賶 爻兀噩丿 卮賷卅丕 賲丕 賴賳丕 賱賰賳賷 賱賲 兀噩丿 爻賵賶 賰賱賲丕鬲 亘爻賷胤丞 鬲毓亘乇 亘賴丕 毓賳 賮賯丿丕賳 賵丕賱丿鬲賴丕 .
丕賱賰丕鬲亘丞 賮賷 丕賱睾丕賱亘 鬲爻乇丿 賱賳丕 丨賰丕賷丞 賵丕賱丿鬲賴丕貙 胤賮賵賱鬲賴丕 賵卮亘丕亘賴丕 賵賲丕 賲乇鬲 亘賴 賲賳 氐毓賵亘丕鬲 孬賲 鬲賯氐 毓賱賷賳丕 賱賯丕卅賴丕 亘賵丕賱丿賴丕 賵賵賱丕丿鬲賴丕 賵卮禺氐賷丞 兀賲賴丕 賵毓賱丕賯鬲賴丕 亘賴丕 毓賱賶 賲丿丕乇 爻賳賵丕鬲 丨賷丕鬲賴丕 賲賳 胤賮賵賱鬲賴丕 賱賲乇丕賴賯鬲賴丕 賱卮亘丕亘賴丕 賵夭賵丕噩賴丕 賵廿賳噩丕亘賴丕 賱兀胤賮丕賱賴丕 貙 賵兀毓鬲賯丿 丕賳 噩賲賷毓 丕賱毓賱丕賯丕鬲 鬲爻賵丿賴丕 丕丨賷丕賳丕 丕賱鬲賮丕賴賲 賵丕賱丨亘 賵丕丨賷丕賳丕 丕禺乇賷 丕賱禺賱丕賮丕鬲 賵丕賱丕禺鬲賱丕賮丕鬲 . 賴賳丕賰 賱丨馗丕鬲 丕賱丨賳丕賳 賵賱丨馗丕鬲 丕賱賯爻賵丞 .
賵鬲爻鬲賲乇 丨賰丕賷丕鬲 丕賱賰丕鬲亘丞 毓賳 賵丕賱丿鬲賴丕 丨鬲賶 卮賷禺賵禺鬲賴丕 賵鬲丿賴賵乇 丨丕賱鬲賴丕 賲毓 丕賱夭賴丕賷賲乇 賵丨鬲賶 賵賮丕鬲賴丕...
佗伽 / 佟佟 / 佗贍佗佗
December 29, 2018
Ernaux, secondo me, 猫 una delle grandi voci narranti dei nostri tempi, una maestra della scrittura.
Come sia possibile muovere emozioni, commuovere profondamente, attraverso uno stile cos矛 asciutto, essenziale, descrittivo 猫 un mistero che solo il talento, nella sua misteriosa verit脿, pu貌 spiegare.
Questo ritratto della madre, accanto a quello del padre in 鈥淚l posto鈥�, 猫 un鈥檕pera di impressionante lucidit脿 e di immenso fulgore.
Ed 猫 anche l鈥檈sempio di come il materiale autobiografico, in mano a chi sa scrivere, diventi trasfigurazione degli eventi personali e messaggio universale per ciascun essere umano, destinato a superare la corrosione del tempo.
Per dirla con le parole di Ernaux:
鈥淣on 猫 una biografia, n茅 un romanzo, naturalmente, forse qualcosa tra la letteratura, la sociologia e la storia. Era necessario che mia madre, nata tra i dominati di un ambiente dal quale 猫 voluta uscire, diventasse storia perch茅 io mi sentissi meno sola e fasulla nel mondo dominante delle parole e delle idee in cui, secondo i suoi desideri, sono entrata."
Come sia possibile muovere emozioni, commuovere profondamente, attraverso uno stile cos矛 asciutto, essenziale, descrittivo 猫 un mistero che solo il talento, nella sua misteriosa verit脿, pu貌 spiegare.
Questo ritratto della madre, accanto a quello del padre in 鈥淚l posto鈥�, 猫 un鈥檕pera di impressionante lucidit脿 e di immenso fulgore.
Ed 猫 anche l鈥檈sempio di come il materiale autobiografico, in mano a chi sa scrivere, diventi trasfigurazione degli eventi personali e messaggio universale per ciascun essere umano, destinato a superare la corrosione del tempo.
Per dirla con le parole di Ernaux:
鈥淣on 猫 una biografia, n茅 un romanzo, naturalmente, forse qualcosa tra la letteratura, la sociologia e la storia. Era necessario che mia madre, nata tra i dominati di un ambiente dal quale 猫 voluta uscire, diventasse storia perch茅 io mi sentissi meno sola e fasulla nel mondo dominante delle parole e delle idee in cui, secondo i suoi desideri, sono entrata."
April 21, 2023
Annie Ernaux'nun annesinin ard谋ndan yazd谋臒谋 bir veda metni "Bir Kad谋n" - bir anlamda annesinin karn谋ndan yeniden 莽谋kma ve ayn谋 anda annesini do臒urma metni belki de. Babas谋n谋 anlatt谋臒谋 "Babam谋n Yeri" ile beraber d眉艧眉nmeli bu kitab谋 san谋r谋m, birbirlerini tamaml谋yorlar.
Anne-k谋z ili艧kisinin karma艧谋k do臒as谋; bar谋nd谋rd谋臒谋 garip dinamikler itibariyle edebiyat谋n bay谋ld谋臒谋 konulardan biri malum. Biz insanlar bir 艧eyi ne kadar 莽枚zemez isek, o kadar edebiyata malzeme ediyoruz onu; edebiyat 眉zerinden anlamaya, anlamland谋rmaya 莽al谋艧谋yoruz.
Ernaux yine son derece ki艧isel bir yerden yaz谋yor ve annesinin hayat谋n谋 anlat谋yor bize. Her zamanki gibi bireysel olan谋 anlat谋rken toplumsal olana dair de konu艧uyor elbette. 陌莽lerinde ya艧ad谋klar谋 莽a臒, insanlar, de臒erler de臒i艧irken annesinin nas谋l konumland谋臒谋n谋, o d枚n眉艧眉mlerin onda (ve muhakkak ki di臒er kad谋nlarda) nas谋l yans谋malar谋 oldu臒unu da aktar谋yor.
Okura 艧irin g枚z眉kmek gibi bir derdi olmamas谋n谋 莽ok seviyorum kendisinin. Annesine kar艧谋 duydu臒u, zaman zaman ac谋mas谋zl谋臒a varan 枚fkesini gizlemeye yahut me艧rula艧t谋rmaya hi莽 莽al谋艧m谋yor - ki bu yak谋nl谋ktaki ili艧kiler zaten asl谋nda kar艧谋l谋kl谋 haks谋zl谋klardan 枚r眉lmemi艧 midir? Anne-k谋z ili艧kisine 莽ok i莽kin bir 艧ey bence o 枚fke, k谋skan莽l谋k, haks谋zl谋k h芒li - hatta bir t眉r samimiyet seviyesi gibi. "Can谋n谋 ac谋tma hakk谋"n谋 ayr谋cal谋kl谋 bi莽imde elinde tutabilmek... Kutsamadan, y眉celtmeden, ger莽ek h芒liyle g枚steriyor bize ili艧kiyi ve pekala bu bi莽imiyle de g眉zel olabilece臒ini ispatl谋yor.
脟ok 莽al谋艧an annesinin, kendi sahip olamad谋klar谋n谋 k谋z谋na sunmak i莽in 莽ok 莽al谋艧mas谋, 莽abalamas谋, ama k谋z谋 o 艧eylere sahip olduk莽a da bir t眉r 枚fke ve k谋skan莽l谋k duymas谋, minnet beklemesi... Ne kadar insani, ne kadar tan谋d谋k ve asl谋nda ne kadar "hi莽 枚yle 艧ey olur mu can谋m" diyip inkar etti臒imiz bir 艧ey. Olur. Oluyor. 陌nsan olmak kusurlu bir var olma hali i艧te. Anneler de o kusurlardan azade de臒il.
Ezc眉mle yine hacmine k谋yasla 莽ok cevherler bar谋nd谋ran bir k眉莽眉k kitap "Bir Kad谋n". Annie Ernaux iyi ki yazm谋艧, bizler iyi ki onu okuyabiliyoruz.
Anne-k谋z ili艧kisinin karma艧谋k do臒as谋; bar谋nd谋rd谋臒谋 garip dinamikler itibariyle edebiyat谋n bay谋ld谋臒谋 konulardan biri malum. Biz insanlar bir 艧eyi ne kadar 莽枚zemez isek, o kadar edebiyata malzeme ediyoruz onu; edebiyat 眉zerinden anlamaya, anlamland谋rmaya 莽al谋艧谋yoruz.
Ernaux yine son derece ki艧isel bir yerden yaz谋yor ve annesinin hayat谋n谋 anlat谋yor bize. Her zamanki gibi bireysel olan谋 anlat谋rken toplumsal olana dair de konu艧uyor elbette. 陌莽lerinde ya艧ad谋klar谋 莽a臒, insanlar, de臒erler de臒i艧irken annesinin nas谋l konumland谋臒谋n谋, o d枚n眉艧眉mlerin onda (ve muhakkak ki di臒er kad谋nlarda) nas谋l yans谋malar谋 oldu臒unu da aktar谋yor.
Okura 艧irin g枚z眉kmek gibi bir derdi olmamas谋n谋 莽ok seviyorum kendisinin. Annesine kar艧谋 duydu臒u, zaman zaman ac谋mas谋zl谋臒a varan 枚fkesini gizlemeye yahut me艧rula艧t谋rmaya hi莽 莽al谋艧m谋yor - ki bu yak谋nl谋ktaki ili艧kiler zaten asl谋nda kar艧谋l谋kl谋 haks谋zl谋klardan 枚r眉lmemi艧 midir? Anne-k谋z ili艧kisine 莽ok i莽kin bir 艧ey bence o 枚fke, k谋skan莽l谋k, haks谋zl谋k h芒li - hatta bir t眉r samimiyet seviyesi gibi. "Can谋n谋 ac谋tma hakk谋"n谋 ayr谋cal谋kl谋 bi莽imde elinde tutabilmek... Kutsamadan, y眉celtmeden, ger莽ek h芒liyle g枚steriyor bize ili艧kiyi ve pekala bu bi莽imiyle de g眉zel olabilece臒ini ispatl谋yor.
脟ok 莽al谋艧an annesinin, kendi sahip olamad谋klar谋n谋 k谋z谋na sunmak i莽in 莽ok 莽al谋艧mas谋, 莽abalamas谋, ama k谋z谋 o 艧eylere sahip olduk莽a da bir t眉r 枚fke ve k谋skan莽l谋k duymas谋, minnet beklemesi... Ne kadar insani, ne kadar tan谋d谋k ve asl谋nda ne kadar "hi莽 枚yle 艧ey olur mu can谋m" diyip inkar etti臒imiz bir 艧ey. Olur. Oluyor. 陌nsan olmak kusurlu bir var olma hali i艧te. Anneler de o kusurlardan azade de臒il.
Ezc眉mle yine hacmine k谋yasla 莽ok cevherler bar谋nd谋ran bir k眉莽眉k kitap "Bir Kad谋n". Annie Ernaux iyi ki yazm谋艧, bizler iyi ki onu okuyabiliyoruz.
September 22, 2024
Getting old, and seeing a loved one getting old, is a terrible thing, that is something Annie Ernaux illustrates eloquently in this small book about her mother, who changes yet remains the same over the course of her life.
For me my mother has no history, she has always been there
Kicking of with the surreal awkwardness of a burial, recites the story of her mother her life. Social struggle and societal change go hand in hand, and her mother is ambitious: She was proud of being a factory girl, but too proud to stay one
It is interesting how we always see England as class obsessed, while Ernaux in book after book sketches France as a class society, stratified between farmers, factory workers, small merchants and the intellectuals. Her daughter makes the move to university teacher (She spends all her day selling milk and potatoes so that I could sit in a lecture hall, learning about Plato), but this is tied to a growing rift keeping apart the two in their adult life.
Eventually infirmness leads to a growing closer again, with tender scenes of brushing hair and a reversal of the daughter-mother power dynamic. A small jewel that we are accustomed from the Nobel laureate and her writing about her personal life, standing at the intersection of biography and historical social commentary.
Quotes:
Money, consumer goods and the state are the three pillars of apartheid
For me my mother has no history, she has always been there
Afterwards she spoke about the war like a novel, the great story of her life
Books were the only thing she handled with care
I just read in the newspaper that despair is a luxury
For me my mother has no history, she has always been there
Kicking of with the surreal awkwardness of a burial, recites the story of her mother her life. Social struggle and societal change go hand in hand, and her mother is ambitious: She was proud of being a factory girl, but too proud to stay one
It is interesting how we always see England as class obsessed, while Ernaux in book after book sketches France as a class society, stratified between farmers, factory workers, small merchants and the intellectuals. Her daughter makes the move to university teacher (She spends all her day selling milk and potatoes so that I could sit in a lecture hall, learning about Plato), but this is tied to a growing rift keeping apart the two in their adult life.
Eventually infirmness leads to a growing closer again, with tender scenes of brushing hair and a reversal of the daughter-mother power dynamic. A small jewel that we are accustomed from the Nobel laureate and her writing about her personal life, standing at the intersection of biography and historical social commentary.
Quotes:
Money, consumer goods and the state are the three pillars of apartheid
For me my mother has no history, she has always been there
Afterwards she spoke about the war like a novel, the great story of her life
Books were the only thing she handled with care
I just read in the newspaper that despair is a luxury
May 5, 2023
鈥淚 believe I am writing about my mother because it is my turn to bring her into the world.鈥�
-- Annie Ernaux
Ernaux wrote this lightly fictionalized memoir of her mother after she dies in the geriatric ward from Alzheimer's disease. She begins with her personal memories and fills in blanks for a mother born in 1906. The account is rarely sentimental (until the end) and often aloof as she seeks to capture the complex bond and contrast between her working-class mother (typical for her generation) and her own university education and feminist ideas.
The final chapters were especially poignant. The author attempts to connect even as her mother no longer recognizes her. I was deeply moved by the author鈥檚 compassion toward her mother in the end as she combed her hair and cleaned her face after she finished eating.
Quite by accident, I鈥檝e recently read two stories about mother/daughter relationships. was an earlier novel. I鈥檓 aging and I have an adult daughter, so both stories evoked personal reflections of my own mother/daughter relationship
.
I love this kind of writing. The language is spare and quietly powerful. I鈥檓 excited to find other stories by this author. Recommended!
-- Annie Ernaux
Ernaux wrote this lightly fictionalized memoir of her mother after she dies in the geriatric ward from Alzheimer's disease. She begins with her personal memories and fills in blanks for a mother born in 1906. The account is rarely sentimental (until the end) and often aloof as she seeks to capture the complex bond and contrast between her working-class mother (typical for her generation) and her own university education and feminist ideas.
The final chapters were especially poignant. The author attempts to connect even as her mother no longer recognizes her. I was deeply moved by the author鈥檚 compassion toward her mother in the end as she combed her hair and cleaned her face after she finished eating.
Quite by accident, I鈥檝e recently read two stories about mother/daughter relationships. was an earlier novel. I鈥檓 aging and I have an adult daughter, so both stories evoked personal reflections of my own mother/daughter relationship
.
I love this kind of writing. The language is spare and quietly powerful. I鈥檓 excited to find other stories by this author. Recommended!
November 26, 2022
USCIRE DALL'OSCURIT脌 DEL RICORDO
Un romanzo in cui la delicatezza del racconto 猫 superata solo dalla tragedia umana, descritta nel modo pi霉 diretto. Argomento: la vita della madre, dalla nascita alla morte.
Rispetto al romanzo che si concentra sul padre (IL POSTO), Una donna mi 猫 sembrato molto pi霉 toccante ed empatico in quanto alla figura centrale descritta, e in certi punti spietato. Questo mentre la ricerca letteraria di Ernaux si mantiene fedele agli obiettivi: 猫 la stessa autrice che vi riflette, tra le righe, sulla propria scrittura:
"Questa maniera di scrivere, che mi pare andare nella direzione della verit脿, mi aiuta a uscire dalla solitudine e dall'oscurit脿 del ricordo individuale tramite la scoperta di un significato pi霉 generale".
Contro lo sfondo della storia francese si staglia quindi la donna pi霉 importante nella vita della narratrice: la madre. Una figura imponente, figlia del suo secolo, della sua classe sociale, dell'educazione ricevuta. Una donna generosa, completamente annullata nel lavoro, ma sempre presente, sempre complice, almeno fino a quando la figlia non cresce abbastanza da entrare in conflitto con lei, da volersene separare, tornare, separarsi e di nuovo ritornare.
Sorprende sempre la capacit脿 di Ernaux di trasmettere in poche parole, ottimamente scelte, l'evoluzione dei rapporti umani. La sua scrittura naviga con leggerezza tra epoche ed et脿, descrivendo sempre in modo dinamico la fluidit脿 delle certezze e dei rapporti umani man mano che la vita scorre, veloce ed impietosa.
Un romanzo in cui la delicatezza del racconto 猫 superata solo dalla tragedia umana, descritta nel modo pi霉 diretto. Argomento: la vita della madre, dalla nascita alla morte.
Rispetto al romanzo che si concentra sul padre (IL POSTO), Una donna mi 猫 sembrato molto pi霉 toccante ed empatico in quanto alla figura centrale descritta, e in certi punti spietato. Questo mentre la ricerca letteraria di Ernaux si mantiene fedele agli obiettivi: 猫 la stessa autrice che vi riflette, tra le righe, sulla propria scrittura:
"Questa maniera di scrivere, che mi pare andare nella direzione della verit脿, mi aiuta a uscire dalla solitudine e dall'oscurit脿 del ricordo individuale tramite la scoperta di un significato pi霉 generale".
Contro lo sfondo della storia francese si staglia quindi la donna pi霉 importante nella vita della narratrice: la madre. Una figura imponente, figlia del suo secolo, della sua classe sociale, dell'educazione ricevuta. Una donna generosa, completamente annullata nel lavoro, ma sempre presente, sempre complice, almeno fino a quando la figlia non cresce abbastanza da entrare in conflitto con lei, da volersene separare, tornare, separarsi e di nuovo ritornare.
Sorprende sempre la capacit脿 di Ernaux di trasmettere in poche parole, ottimamente scelte, l'evoluzione dei rapporti umani. La sua scrittura naviga con leggerezza tra epoche ed et脿, descrivendo sempre in modo dinamico la fluidit脿 delle certezze e dei rapporti umani man mano che la vita scorre, veloce ed impietosa.
April 5, 2023
This was my first time reading Annie Ernaux. Immediately I knew I was reading someone singular. Her style is direct, potent, unadorned. Punctuated with moments of poignancy. All at once, a stab of insight.
This is more memoir than fiction, and begins with the death of the author's mother. Then, she proceeds to describe her mother's life, from beginning to end.
I believe I am writing about my mother because it is my turn to bring her into the world.
(See what I mean about poignant?)
Annie Ernaux's mother is vibrant, difficult, fascinating, complex... so much so, I couldn't take my eyes off her. I read the entire 90-page novella in one sitting. It said much about the woman, and yet there's always so much that no one (not even one's child) can possibly know. It's one of the tragedies of human life, our unknowability.
I will return to Ernaux's work. I enjoy her immersive style. I like the way she holds my head firmly underwater the way she does. I'm curious as to how she'd write about sex.
This is more memoir than fiction, and begins with the death of the author's mother. Then, she proceeds to describe her mother's life, from beginning to end.
I believe I am writing about my mother because it is my turn to bring her into the world.
(See what I mean about poignant?)
Annie Ernaux's mother is vibrant, difficult, fascinating, complex... so much so, I couldn't take my eyes off her. I read the entire 90-page novella in one sitting. It said much about the woman, and yet there's always so much that no one (not even one's child) can possibly know. It's one of the tragedies of human life, our unknowability.
I will return to Ernaux's work. I enjoy her immersive style. I like the way she holds my head firmly underwater the way she does. I'm curious as to how she'd write about sex.
December 8, 2023
协褌邪 泻薪懈谐邪 薪械 懈蟹 褌械褏, 泻芯褌芯褉褘械 薪褍卸薪芯 邪薪邪谢懈蟹懈褉芯胁邪褌褜 褋 褌芯褔泻懈 蟹褉械薪懈褟 谢懈褌械褉邪褌褍褉薪褘褏 写芯褋褌芯懈薪褋褌胁 懈谢懈 薪械写芯褋褌邪褌泻芯胁, 懈 薪械 懈蟹 褌械褏, 胁 泻芯褌芯褉褘褏 屑薪芯谐芯 屑褍写褉褘褏 邪褎芯褉懈蟹屑芯胁 懈 褋械薪褌械薪褑懈泄, 泻芯褌芯褉褘械 屑芯卸薪芯 褉邪蟹斜懈褉邪褌褜. 袨 泻薪懈谐械 褌褉褍写薪芯 谐芯胁芯褉懈褌褜, 锌芯褌芯屑褍 褔褌芯 芯薪邪, 泻邪泻 懈褋锌芯胁械写褜, 芯 谐谢褍斜芯泻芯 谢懈褔薪芯屑, 薪邪锌懈褋邪薪邪 锌褉芯褋褌芯, 薪芯 懈褋泻褉械薪薪械, 斜械蟹 褍褌邪泄泻懈. 袧械 褏芯褔械褌褋褟 薪懈 芯斜褋褍卸写邪褌褜, 薪懈 芯褋褍卸写邪褌褜, 薪懈 懈褋褋谢械写芯胁邪褌褜. 袧芯 芯薪邪 褌褉芯谐邪械褌, 芯薪邪 蟹邪褋褌邪胁谢褟械褌 蟹邪写褍屑邪褌褜褋褟 锌褉械卸写械 胁褋械谐芯 芯 褋械斜械 褉褟写芯屑 褋 屑邪褌械褉褜褞, 芯 屑邪褌械褉懈, 泻邪泻 谢懈褔薪芯褋褌懈, 懈 芯 褌芯屑, 泻邪泻 胁邪卸薪邪 屑邪屑邪 写谢褟 泻邪卸写芯谐芯 懈蟹 薪邪褋.
袙 薪芯胁械谢谢械 蟹邪褌褉邪谐懈胁邪械褌褋褟 褌械屑邪 斜芯谢械蟹薪懈 袗谢褜褑谐械泄屑械褉邪, 泻芯褌芯褉邪褟 褋褌邪薪芯胁懈褌褋褟 胁褋械 斜芯谢械械 褕懈褉芯泻芯 褉邪褋锌褉芯褋褌褉邪薪械薪薪褘屑 褟胁谢械薪懈械屑. 袣 褋芯卸邪谢械薪懈褞, 锌芯泻邪 屑械写懈褑懈薪邪 斜械褋褋懈谢褜薪邪 褔械屑-谢懈斜芯 锌芯屑芯褔褜 褌邪泻懈屑 斜芯谢褜薪褘屑. 小 褉芯褋褌芯屑 锌褉芯写芯谢卸懈褌械谢褜薪芯褋褌懈 卸懈蟹薪懈 锌褉芯斜谢械屑邪 薪械褏胁邪褌泻懈 谐械褉懈邪褌褉懈褔械褋泻懈褏 芯褌写械谢械薪懈泄, 褏芯褋锌懈褋芯胁 懈 写芯屑芯胁 锌褉械褋褌邪褉械谢褘褏 写谢褟 锌邪褑懈械薪褌芯胁 褋 薪邪褉褍褕械薪懈褟屑懈 锌邪屑褟褌懈 斜褍写械褌 褌芯谢褜泻芯 薪邪褉邪褋褌邪褌褜. 袧芯 锌芯屑懈屑芯 屑械写懈褑懈薪褋泻芯泄 锌芯屑芯褖懈 胁邪卸薪褘屑 褋褌邪薪芯胁懈褌褋褟 胁芯锌褉芯褋 锌芯胁褘褕械薪懈褟 锌谢邪薪泻懈 谐褍屑邪薪懈褋褌懈褔械褋泻懈褏 褋褌邪薪写邪褉褌芯胁 胁 芯褌薪芯褕械薪懈懈 褌邪泻懈褏 斜芯谢褜薪褘褏.
袙 薪芯胁械谢谢械 蟹邪褌褉邪谐懈胁邪械褌褋褟 褌械屑邪 斜芯谢械蟹薪懈 袗谢褜褑谐械泄屑械褉邪, 泻芯褌芯褉邪褟 褋褌邪薪芯胁懈褌褋褟 胁褋械 斜芯谢械械 褕懈褉芯泻芯 褉邪褋锌褉芯褋褌褉邪薪械薪薪褘屑 褟胁谢械薪懈械屑. 袣 褋芯卸邪谢械薪懈褞, 锌芯泻邪 屑械写懈褑懈薪邪 斜械褋褋懈谢褜薪邪 褔械屑-谢懈斜芯 锌芯屑芯褔褜 褌邪泻懈屑 斜芯谢褜薪褘屑. 小 褉芯褋褌芯屑 锌褉芯写芯谢卸懈褌械谢褜薪芯褋褌懈 卸懈蟹薪懈 锌褉芯斜谢械屑邪 薪械褏胁邪褌泻懈 谐械褉懈邪褌褉懈褔械褋泻懈褏 芯褌写械谢械薪懈泄, 褏芯褋锌懈褋芯胁 懈 写芯屑芯胁 锌褉械褋褌邪褉械谢褘褏 写谢褟 锌邪褑懈械薪褌芯胁 褋 薪邪褉褍褕械薪懈褟屑懈 锌邪屑褟褌懈 斜褍写械褌 褌芯谢褜泻芯 薪邪褉邪褋褌邪褌褜. 袧芯 锌芯屑懈屑芯 屑械写懈褑懈薪褋泻芯泄 锌芯屑芯褖懈 胁邪卸薪褘屑 褋褌邪薪芯胁懈褌褋褟 胁芯锌褉芯褋 锌芯胁褘褕械薪懈褟 锌谢邪薪泻懈 谐褍屑邪薪懈褋褌懈褔械褋泻懈褏 褋褌邪薪写邪褉褌芯胁 胁 芯褌薪芯褕械薪懈懈 褌邪泻懈褏 斜芯谢褜薪褘褏.
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April 27, 2025Me hab铆a dado un descanso de leer, pero ya he vuelto.
Creo que este libro es la definici贸n exacta de una frase en la que pienso con frecuencia.
芦Soy la hija de mi madre.禄
Creo que este libro es la definici贸n exacta de una frase en la que pienso con frecuencia.
芦Soy la hija de mi madre.禄
December 13, 2023
bu kitap incecik bir kitap olabilir ama manevi a臒谋rl谋臒谋 tonlarca. g枚臒s眉me oturdu adeta, nefes alam谋yorum; hakk谋nda konu艧maksa 莽ok zor.
annie ernaux ile ilk okudu臒um g眉nden beri bir frekans uyumumuz oldu臒undan bahsediyorum biliyorsunuz, hala da en be臒endi臒im kitab谋 seneler; ama bu, beni en 莽ok etkileyen, en 莽ok yaralayan kitab谋 oldu.
莽ok g眉zel, 莽ok yo臒un, 莽ok derin bir kitap ama anlatmak 莽ok zor benim i莽in. terapistle konu艧ulacak bir kitap. orhan veli'nin de dedi臒i gibi: anlatam谋yorum, veya; ilhan irem'in de dedi臒i gibi: konu艧am谋yorum, konu艧am谋yorum, konu艧am谋yorum.
annie ernaux ile ilk okudu臒um g眉nden beri bir frekans uyumumuz oldu臒undan bahsediyorum biliyorsunuz, hala da en be臒endi臒im kitab谋 seneler; ama bu, beni en 莽ok etkileyen, en 莽ok yaralayan kitab谋 oldu.
莽ok g眉zel, 莽ok yo臒un, 莽ok derin bir kitap ama anlatmak 莽ok zor benim i莽in. terapistle konu艧ulacak bir kitap. orhan veli'nin de dedi臒i gibi: anlatam谋yorum, veya; ilhan irem'in de dedi臒i gibi: konu艧am谋yorum, konu艧am谋yorum, konu艧am谋yorum.
October 10, 2022
Festeggio il Premio Nobel leggendo gli ultimi due titoli che mi mancavano, felice perch茅 so che ne sta per arrivare un altro.
鈥淟e rimproveravo di essere ci貌 che io, in procinto di emigrare in un ambiente diverso, cercavo di non sembrare pi霉.鈥�
鈥淚n certi momenti aveva in sua figlia, di fronte a lei, un nemico di classe.鈥�
Il rapporto di Annie Ernaux con la madre, per come ce lo racconta lei stessa, 猫 segnato da una profonda frattura sociale e generazionale: la madre 猫 di famiglia operaia nata e vissuta in una piccola cittadina di provincia, mentre la figlia sar脿 non solo 鈥渜uella che avr脿 studiato鈥� e che metter脿 fra loro la distanza della lingua e della cultura, ma anche, a sua volta, un prodotto del Sessantotto, che amplificher脿 tutte le distanze che i figli da sempre, in maniera del tutto naturale, mettono fra loro e i genitori che per forza di cose sono nati e vissuti in un鈥檈poca precedente. Resta in ogni caso, anche quando Ernaux stessa (citando ne Jean Genet- 鈥淪crivere 猫 l鈥檜ltima risorsa quando abbiamo tradito鈥� - ma anche come si evince dalle due citazioni che ho riportato qui sopra) ammetta di sentirsi rispetto ai genitori colei che in qualche senso li ha traditi, anche laddove non rinnegher脿 mai il proprio percorso sociale e culturale, l鈥檌nsofferenza per la tenacia con la quale sono sempre rimasti legati ai riti e alle abitudini dettate dalle umili origini, la tenerezza per una madre e un padre cos矛 lontani da lei, il tentativo di conoscere per conciliare le proprie esistenze, le proprie differenze, le mancanze che li hanno allontanati, la conoscibilit脿 delle proprie origini.
鈥淟e rimproveravo di essere ci貌 che io, in procinto di emigrare in un ambiente diverso, cercavo di non sembrare pi霉.鈥�
鈥淚n certi momenti aveva in sua figlia, di fronte a lei, un nemico di classe.鈥�
Il rapporto di Annie Ernaux con la madre, per come ce lo racconta lei stessa, 猫 segnato da una profonda frattura sociale e generazionale: la madre 猫 di famiglia operaia nata e vissuta in una piccola cittadina di provincia, mentre la figlia sar脿 non solo 鈥渜uella che avr脿 studiato鈥� e che metter脿 fra loro la distanza della lingua e della cultura, ma anche, a sua volta, un prodotto del Sessantotto, che amplificher脿 tutte le distanze che i figli da sempre, in maniera del tutto naturale, mettono fra loro e i genitori che per forza di cose sono nati e vissuti in un鈥檈poca precedente. Resta in ogni caso, anche quando Ernaux stessa (citando ne Jean Genet- 鈥淪crivere 猫 l鈥檜ltima risorsa quando abbiamo tradito鈥� - ma anche come si evince dalle due citazioni che ho riportato qui sopra) ammetta di sentirsi rispetto ai genitori colei che in qualche senso li ha traditi, anche laddove non rinnegher脿 mai il proprio percorso sociale e culturale, l鈥檌nsofferenza per la tenacia con la quale sono sempre rimasti legati ai riti e alle abitudini dettate dalle umili origini, la tenerezza per una madre e un padre cos矛 lontani da lei, il tentativo di conoscere per conciliare le proprie esistenze, le proprie differenze, le mancanze che li hanno allontanati, la conoscibilit脿 delle proprie origini.
February 10, 2023
He llorado en la p谩gina 71.
He llorado con la p谩gina 71.
He llorado al acabarlo.
He llorado porque dicen: 芦presenciar la muerte de tus progenitores es ley de vida禄.
He llorado porque al menos para m铆 鈥攎ujer, obrera, psiquiatrizada, enferma, hu茅rfana de padre por su no ejercicio de la paternidad鈥� no est谩 tan claro que dicha ley se aplique sin m谩s en mi historia. Desde luego no lo s茅, de ah铆 la imaginaci贸n a trav茅s de la historia de ella.
No s茅 si es realmente un acto de imaginaci贸n o uno de empat铆a.
S茅 que por una u otra raz贸n, he llorado.
He llorado con la p谩gina 71.
He llorado al acabarlo.
He llorado porque dicen: 芦presenciar la muerte de tus progenitores es ley de vida禄.
He llorado porque al menos para m铆 鈥攎ujer, obrera, psiquiatrizada, enferma, hu茅rfana de padre por su no ejercicio de la paternidad鈥� no est谩 tan claro que dicha ley se aplique sin m谩s en mi historia. Desde luego no lo s茅, de ah铆 la imaginaci贸n a trav茅s de la historia de ella.
No s茅 si es realmente un acto de imaginaci贸n o uno de empat铆a.
S茅 que por una u otra raz贸n, he llorado.
April 17, 2018
A pochi giorni dalla morte della madre la Ernaux inizia a raccogliere i ricordi per fissarli nella memoria e perch茅 rivivere il passato 猫 una forma di resistenza alla separazione.
Ripercorriamo la storia che gi脿 conosce chi ha letto Il posto, una vita modesta nella provincia francese con il raggiungimento di piccoli traguardi e con la delega alla unica figlia di fare il salto sociale e di accedere al mondo della cultura.
E poi la distanza che questo passaggio crea, gli imbarazzi e i sensi di colpa, la lontananza seguita negli ultimi anni da una nuova vicinanza necessaria ma non del tutto desiderata, il declino della vecchiaia reso ancora pi霉 penoso dal declino mentale.
La scrittura 猫 sempre quella laconica ma densa dei suoi altri libri, una emotivit脿 sempre centrale nel discorso anche se tenuta sotto controllo.
Rispetto a Il posto per貌 qui il passo 猫 diverso, c'猫 una accettazione e una tenerezza, per quanto trattenuta, per la vita della madre nella sua interezza.
La Ernaux sembra mettere la sordina al proprio disagio e alle implicite rivendicazioni dei suoi altri scritti per lasciare la scena a questa donna senza storia ( " Per me mia madre 猫 priva di storia. C'猫 sempre stata") e farla diventare reale.
Dove Il posto raccontava di una disarmonia quasi non recuperabile, qui c'猫 una ricerca di senso e quasi un orgoglio per la donna che questa madre 猫 stata e forse anche grazie alla distanza di 5 anni fra la prima pubblicazione del Posto e questo libro, qui sembra di vedere una diversa maturit脿 emotiva, la spinta alla scrittura non 猫 testimoniare un disagio mai riscattato ma offrire ad altri un risarcimento.
"Questa non 猫 una biografia n茅 un romanzo... Era necessario che mia madre, nata fra i dominati di un ambiente dal quale 猫 voluta uscire, diventasse storia perch茅 io mi sentissi meno sola e fasulla nel mondo delle parole e delle idee in cui, secondo i suoi desideri, sono entrata."
Ripercorriamo la storia che gi脿 conosce chi ha letto Il posto, una vita modesta nella provincia francese con il raggiungimento di piccoli traguardi e con la delega alla unica figlia di fare il salto sociale e di accedere al mondo della cultura.
E poi la distanza che questo passaggio crea, gli imbarazzi e i sensi di colpa, la lontananza seguita negli ultimi anni da una nuova vicinanza necessaria ma non del tutto desiderata, il declino della vecchiaia reso ancora pi霉 penoso dal declino mentale.
La scrittura 猫 sempre quella laconica ma densa dei suoi altri libri, una emotivit脿 sempre centrale nel discorso anche se tenuta sotto controllo.
Rispetto a Il posto per貌 qui il passo 猫 diverso, c'猫 una accettazione e una tenerezza, per quanto trattenuta, per la vita della madre nella sua interezza.
La Ernaux sembra mettere la sordina al proprio disagio e alle implicite rivendicazioni dei suoi altri scritti per lasciare la scena a questa donna senza storia ( " Per me mia madre 猫 priva di storia. C'猫 sempre stata") e farla diventare reale.
Dove Il posto raccontava di una disarmonia quasi non recuperabile, qui c'猫 una ricerca di senso e quasi un orgoglio per la donna che questa madre 猫 stata e forse anche grazie alla distanza di 5 anni fra la prima pubblicazione del Posto e questo libro, qui sembra di vedere una diversa maturit脿 emotiva, la spinta alla scrittura non 猫 testimoniare un disagio mai riscattato ma offrire ad altri un risarcimento.
"Questa non 猫 una biografia n茅 un romanzo... Era necessario che mia madre, nata fra i dominati di un ambiente dal quale 猫 voluta uscire, diventasse storia perch茅 io mi sentissi meno sola e fasulla nel mondo delle parole e delle idee in cui, secondo i suoi desideri, sono entrata."
June 27, 2023
鈥橫Y MOTHER DIED on Monday 7 April in the old people鈥檚 home attached to the hospital at Pontoise, where I had installed her two years previously. The nurse said over the phone: 鈥淵our mother passed away this morning, after breakfast.鈥� It was around ten o鈥檆lock.鈥�
Mother/daughter relationships can be complex, and complicated, their relationship seemed to wander back and forth between the two with moments that were bitter, but there was also love. And in the case of someone whose body and mind are deteriorating a little at a time, it is hard to come to terms with the life of someone who gave birth to you leaving this world with things left unsaid. A mother who seemed distant or dismissive for most of daughter鈥檚 adult years is still a connection that becomes a part of you. There is still love.
鈥橧 shall never hear the sound of her voice again. It was her voice, together with her words, her hands and her way of moving and laughing, which linked the woman I am to the child I once was. The last bond between me and the world I come from has been severed.鈥�
There鈥檚 something about the way that she writes that pulled me in with her 鈥橳he Young Man鈥� and which made me want to read more of what she鈥檇 written. Both were wonderful reads, if very different ones. Reading her stories is somewhat reminiscent of Patti Smith in how it flows with a sense of authenticity, revealing some wish, desire that things could have been different, but accepting the way it was.
While there is an essence of the way their relationship affected her, her feelings are shared in simple acceptance of how it was, and not how she wished it had been. A story of mothers and daughters, their differences as well as their bond. A story of conflict, but also love.
Many thanks to my library, and the librarians for the loan of this copy!
February 7, 2025
Evidencija ka啪e da mi je ovo sedma knjiga Ani Erno. Ose膰aj ka啪e da je ovo, zapravo, centralna knjiga njenog opusa. Sve 拧to je uradila se, na ovaj ili onaj na膷in, sliva u nju.听
"Jedna 啪ena" je bolna knjiga o majci, gde je intimnost upotrebljena kao sredstvo za davanje 拧ire slike dru拧tva i vremena. Tako膽e je i knjiga o varljivosti se膰anja, pa i o tome kako se mi uspostavljamo uprkos ili zahvaljuju膰i svojim roditeljima. A roditelji su na拧i predgovori, to pre膷esto zaboravljamo.
Erno je ovom knjigom dala i va啪an doprinos razmi拧ljanju o istorijskim promenama klasnog dru拧tva u Francuskoj. Ubedljivo je povezala svakodnevno, ku膰no i politi膷no (eti膷ko), sve vreme neguju膰i duh temeljno ambivalentnog odnosa izme膽u majke i 膰erke.
Nakon smrti, majka postaje vi拧e pri膷a nego osoba od krvi i mesa. I neke pri膷e ne treba ponovo dopisivati, iako 啪udimo da je druk膷ije. To je okolnost gubitka, ostajemo su拧tinski sami kada oni koji su nam omogu膰ili da kora膷amo ovim svetom, nepovratno odu, a znamo da i nas ista sudbina 膷eka, da 膰emo nekome tako膽e biti i radost i teret.
Vra拧ki je te拧ko pisati re膷enicama obi膷nim kao voda, a jakim kao udar groma. I to bez ikakve sladunjavosti.
"Jedna 啪ena" je bolna knjiga o majci, gde je intimnost upotrebljena kao sredstvo za davanje 拧ire slike dru拧tva i vremena. Tako膽e je i knjiga o varljivosti se膰anja, pa i o tome kako se mi uspostavljamo uprkos ili zahvaljuju膰i svojim roditeljima. A roditelji su na拧i predgovori, to pre膷esto zaboravljamo.
Erno je ovom knjigom dala i va啪an doprinos razmi拧ljanju o istorijskim promenama klasnog dru拧tva u Francuskoj. Ubedljivo je povezala svakodnevno, ku膰no i politi膷no (eti膷ko), sve vreme neguju膰i duh temeljno ambivalentnog odnosa izme膽u majke i 膰erke.
Nakon smrti, majka postaje vi拧e pri膷a nego osoba od krvi i mesa. I neke pri膷e ne treba ponovo dopisivati, iako 啪udimo da je druk膷ije. To je okolnost gubitka, ostajemo su拧tinski sami kada oni koji su nam omogu膰ili da kora膷amo ovim svetom, nepovratno odu, a znamo da i nas ista sudbina 膷eka, da 膰emo nekome tako膽e biti i radost i teret.
Vra拧ki je te拧ko pisati re膷enicama obi膷nim kao voda, a jakim kao udar groma. I to bez ikakve sladunjavosti.
July 19, 2022
This was my first encounter with Annie Ernaux's writing and it was a very pleasant meeting, albeit it affected me a bit too much.
This is the story of Ernaux's mother. The book starts with her death after suffering from Alzheimer's for a few years. Ernaux is attempting to be objective, to portray the real woman her mother was, even though we all know nobody truly knows anyone.
Their relationship is burdened with the common generational conflicts that pull and push them. There's love and dedication. There's also criticism, different mentalities, and busy lives.
Ernaux's writing is simple but evocative - I found it very moving.
I will attempt to read other books by Ernaux.
This is the story of Ernaux's mother. The book starts with her death after suffering from Alzheimer's for a few years. Ernaux is attempting to be objective, to portray the real woman her mother was, even though we all know nobody truly knows anyone.
Their relationship is burdened with the common generational conflicts that pull and push them. There's love and dedication. There's also criticism, different mentalities, and busy lives.
Ernaux's writing is simple but evocative - I found it very moving.
I will attempt to read other books by Ernaux.
February 18, 2025
(ho letto molte recensioni positive, Cristina c, Piperitapitta... che mi hanno fatto venire il desiderio di farmi un'idea pi霉 articolata di questa scrittrice. avevo iniziato a leggere "Gli anni" ma senza troppa convinzione. i riferimenti culturali a me estranei mi hanno spinto ad abbandonarlo dopo poche pagine. e cos矛 ho ricominciato da qui.)
Alfonso Reyes, il grande scrittore messicano, scrisse che si pubblica un libro per non passare la vita a correggere le sue bozze. Questo 猫 particolarmente vero per i libri autobiografici, come questo di Annie Ernaux su sua madre. Sua madre 猫 una donna umile, figlia di un carrettiere e di una sartina. una di quelle donne che ha imparato "i gesti che addomesticano la miseria", come rigirare i colletti e i polsini delle camicie "perch茅 durassero il doppio", conservare la pelle del latte, il pane raffermo per i dolci, la cenere della legna per il bucato, il calore di una stufa spenta per asciugare gli stracci. E' una donna il cui senso di ribellione ha dei confini che coincidono solo con il rifiuto della povert脿. Senza altre pretese astratte. E' una bellissima riflessione, su cui ho riflettuto a lungo.
Per tutto il libro sono disseminate frasi come "passo molto tempo a interrogarmi sull'ordine delle cose da dire, come se esistesse un ordine ideale, l'unico capace di restituire una verit脿 su mia madre", "mi sembra di vederla ora, 猫 qui che deve essere diventata lei", "mia madre si stava evolvendo" "vorrei conservare di mia madre delle immagini puramente affettive, il calore o le lacrime, senza dar loro un senso"... E' commovente lo sforzo che la Ernaux fa per ricostruirla (ho letto che prima di scrivere, passa ore immersa nel fiume fangoso delle memoria); e non appena l'ha intravista, viva, vorrebbe fermarla, in una condizione di atemporalit脿, cos矛 come la Szymborska vorrebbe fermare quell'antilope che corre nella savana inseguita dal leone... disperata per la sua sorte se la prende con il mondo, con il caso, con il tempo, con tutto quello che non la tiene in vita... (La fuggitiva 猫 perfino in vantaggio./ E se non fosse per quella radice/ che spunta dal terreno,/ e se non fosse per l'inciampare/ di uno dei quattro zoccoli,/ se non fosse per il ritmo spezzato / d'un quarto di secondo,/ di cui approfitta la leonessa/ con un lungo balzo...). Anche la Ernaux, con la sua voce pacata, che non sembra adirarsi mai, sta per lanciare un urlo. Nel momento della sepoltura, vorrebbe dare una mancia cospicua al becchino che, cospargendola di terra, "sarebbe stato l'ultimo uomo sulla terra a occuparsi di lei". Vorrebbe per lei pi霉 canti, pi霉 inni. il filo di quest'urlo corre per tutto il libro, 猫 un sibilo, un acufene quasi impercettibile.
Alcuni lettori, i pi霉 sensibili, lo sentiranno.
4,5 *
Alfonso Reyes, il grande scrittore messicano, scrisse che si pubblica un libro per non passare la vita a correggere le sue bozze. Questo 猫 particolarmente vero per i libri autobiografici, come questo di Annie Ernaux su sua madre. Sua madre 猫 una donna umile, figlia di un carrettiere e di una sartina. una di quelle donne che ha imparato "i gesti che addomesticano la miseria", come rigirare i colletti e i polsini delle camicie "perch茅 durassero il doppio", conservare la pelle del latte, il pane raffermo per i dolci, la cenere della legna per il bucato, il calore di una stufa spenta per asciugare gli stracci. E' una donna il cui senso di ribellione ha dei confini che coincidono solo con il rifiuto della povert脿. Senza altre pretese astratte. E' una bellissima riflessione, su cui ho riflettuto a lungo.
Per tutto il libro sono disseminate frasi come "passo molto tempo a interrogarmi sull'ordine delle cose da dire, come se esistesse un ordine ideale, l'unico capace di restituire una verit脿 su mia madre", "mi sembra di vederla ora, 猫 qui che deve essere diventata lei", "mia madre si stava evolvendo" "vorrei conservare di mia madre delle immagini puramente affettive, il calore o le lacrime, senza dar loro un senso"... E' commovente lo sforzo che la Ernaux fa per ricostruirla (ho letto che prima di scrivere, passa ore immersa nel fiume fangoso delle memoria); e non appena l'ha intravista, viva, vorrebbe fermarla, in una condizione di atemporalit脿, cos矛 come la Szymborska vorrebbe fermare quell'antilope che corre nella savana inseguita dal leone... disperata per la sua sorte se la prende con il mondo, con il caso, con il tempo, con tutto quello che non la tiene in vita... (La fuggitiva 猫 perfino in vantaggio./ E se non fosse per quella radice/ che spunta dal terreno,/ e se non fosse per l'inciampare/ di uno dei quattro zoccoli,/ se non fosse per il ritmo spezzato / d'un quarto di secondo,/ di cui approfitta la leonessa/ con un lungo balzo...). Anche la Ernaux, con la sua voce pacata, che non sembra adirarsi mai, sta per lanciare un urlo. Nel momento della sepoltura, vorrebbe dare una mancia cospicua al becchino che, cospargendola di terra, "sarebbe stato l'ultimo uomo sulla terra a occuparsi di lei". Vorrebbe per lei pi霉 canti, pi霉 inni. il filo di quest'urlo corre per tutto il libro, 猫 un sibilo, un acufene quasi impercettibile.
Alcuni lettori, i pi霉 sensibili, lo sentiranno.
4,5 *
December 6, 2022
[3.5] This book didn't click with me in the beginning. Ernaux's account of her mother's early and mid-life is so matter-of-fact and the writing so simple, that it felt bland. It wasn't until her mother started aging that the writing became charged and tender. In the end, the contrast worked. I was swept along with the sad intensity of the last pages.
October 10, 2022
Congratulations, Annie Ernaux, awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature 2022!
鈥淚 always wanted words to be like stones, for them to have the power of reality,鈥� says Annie Ernaux. 鈥淓veryone knows they are an illusion, yet words provoke action.鈥�
Annie Ernaux grew up working-class, the daughter of factory workers who became grocers; she
went to university to become first, a primary school teacher, then a college literature professor, before she became a full time writer in retirement. In each life step she separates herself from her parents, moving from working class to middle class, though she loves them, and they love her. I just also read her short book about her father, A Man鈥檚 Place, and this short book is about her mother. Her desire is to try to honor them by rendering them as individuals. To neither romanticize them nor theorize about them:
鈥淚t is said that contradiction is unthinkable; but the fact is that in the pain of a living being it is even an actual existence鈥�--Hegel (Ernaux opens the book with this quotation)
And as with most human beings, her mother is full of contradictions, wanting connection, wanting independence; wanting her daughter to have what she did not have, yet to not be seen as "above" her. I liked this book a bit more than her book about her father, because it was a bit more intense, anguished, as her mother died from complications from Alzheimer鈥檚, a disorder that is all too familiar to most of us today, with our aging population.
Ernaux said she did not want her mother to 鈥渂ecome a little girl, again,鈥� through the Alzheimer's, though this role reversal is what often happens with children and their parents as we all age. I love this line from her as she imagines the process of writing her mother as akin to giving birth:
"I believe I am writing about my mother because it is my turn to bring her into the world."
I really liked the book; as with her book about her father, I was led to think hard (and make some notes) about my own mother, who is the person I loved more than anyone else in the world, a woman of contradictions herself.
Here鈥檚 a professional review of Ernaux鈥檚 work, with pictures, because this is what you want to see, pictures of her with her parents:
鈥淚 always wanted words to be like stones, for them to have the power of reality,鈥� says Annie Ernaux. 鈥淓veryone knows they are an illusion, yet words provoke action.鈥�
Annie Ernaux grew up working-class, the daughter of factory workers who became grocers; she
went to university to become first, a primary school teacher, then a college literature professor, before she became a full time writer in retirement. In each life step she separates herself from her parents, moving from working class to middle class, though she loves them, and they love her. I just also read her short book about her father, A Man鈥檚 Place, and this short book is about her mother. Her desire is to try to honor them by rendering them as individuals. To neither romanticize them nor theorize about them:
鈥淚t is said that contradiction is unthinkable; but the fact is that in the pain of a living being it is even an actual existence鈥�--Hegel (Ernaux opens the book with this quotation)
And as with most human beings, her mother is full of contradictions, wanting connection, wanting independence; wanting her daughter to have what she did not have, yet to not be seen as "above" her. I liked this book a bit more than her book about her father, because it was a bit more intense, anguished, as her mother died from complications from Alzheimer鈥檚, a disorder that is all too familiar to most of us today, with our aging population.
Ernaux said she did not want her mother to 鈥渂ecome a little girl, again,鈥� through the Alzheimer's, though this role reversal is what often happens with children and their parents as we all age. I love this line from her as she imagines the process of writing her mother as akin to giving birth:
"I believe I am writing about my mother because it is my turn to bring her into the world."
I really liked the book; as with her book about her father, I was led to think hard (and make some notes) about my own mother, who is the person I loved more than anyone else in the world, a woman of contradictions herself.
Here鈥檚 a professional review of Ernaux鈥檚 work, with pictures, because this is what you want to see, pictures of her with her parents:
April 30, 2023
4.5 stars
鈥淭his book can be seen as a literary venture as its purpose is to find out the truth about my mother, a truth that can be conveyed only by words. (Neither photographs, nor my own memories, nor even the reminiscences of my family can bring me this truth.)鈥�
My second nobel winner in a week! Certainly my first work by Ernaux, although this isn鈥檛 fiction. It is short, less than a hundred pages, and is about Ernaux鈥檚 mother, her life and death. It begins with her mother鈥檚 death. It鈥檚 heartfelt, but it does not sugar coat the relationship:
鈥淥ne could tell whether she was upset simply by looking at her face. In private she didn鈥檛 mince her words and told us straight out what she thought. She called me a beast, a slut, and a bitch, or told me I was 鈥渦npleasant鈥�. She would often hit me, usually by slapping my face, or occasionally punching my shoulders. Five minutes later, she would take me into her arms and I was her 鈥減oppet.鈥�
It charts a poor upbringing in Normandy, marriage, motherhood, work as a small shopkeeper, boredom in retirement, Alzheimer鈥檚 and death in a geriatric hospital. The descriptions in relation to Alzheimer鈥檚 are well described and poignant. Effectively it鈥檚 a portrait of two women tied by a biological bond. The relationship was a difficult one at times and writing it was not easy:
鈥淚t鈥檚 a difficult undertaking .For me , my mother has no history .She has always been there .When I speak of her , my first impulse is to 鈥渇reeze 鈥� her in a series of images unrelated to time 鈥� 鈥渟he had a violent temper 鈥�
This is an interesting account and a whole lot shorter than Proust or Knausgaard! It鈥檚 a mundane life but in Ernaux鈥檚 hands it is a compelling account.
鈥淭his book can be seen as a literary venture as its purpose is to find out the truth about my mother, a truth that can be conveyed only by words. (Neither photographs, nor my own memories, nor even the reminiscences of my family can bring me this truth.)鈥�
My second nobel winner in a week! Certainly my first work by Ernaux, although this isn鈥檛 fiction. It is short, less than a hundred pages, and is about Ernaux鈥檚 mother, her life and death. It begins with her mother鈥檚 death. It鈥檚 heartfelt, but it does not sugar coat the relationship:
鈥淥ne could tell whether she was upset simply by looking at her face. In private she didn鈥檛 mince her words and told us straight out what she thought. She called me a beast, a slut, and a bitch, or told me I was 鈥渦npleasant鈥�. She would often hit me, usually by slapping my face, or occasionally punching my shoulders. Five minutes later, she would take me into her arms and I was her 鈥減oppet.鈥�
It charts a poor upbringing in Normandy, marriage, motherhood, work as a small shopkeeper, boredom in retirement, Alzheimer鈥檚 and death in a geriatric hospital. The descriptions in relation to Alzheimer鈥檚 are well described and poignant. Effectively it鈥檚 a portrait of two women tied by a biological bond. The relationship was a difficult one at times and writing it was not easy:
鈥淚t鈥檚 a difficult undertaking .For me , my mother has no history .She has always been there .When I speak of her , my first impulse is to 鈥渇reeze 鈥� her in a series of images unrelated to time 鈥� 鈥渟he had a violent temper 鈥�
This is an interesting account and a whole lot shorter than Proust or Knausgaard! It鈥檚 a mundane life but in Ernaux鈥檚 hands it is a compelling account.
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